Stray Thoughts From a Galaxy Far Away
by 2Old4This2
Summary: A collection of short, or short-ish, stories, inspired by the original trilogy. They can include any of the OT characters, but there will be an abundance of Han, Leia, and Han/Leia stories. There is no particular order to the stories, and most of them won't have any connection to each other. A few might. Can be humorous, tragic, romantic, adventure or anything in between.
1. Chapter 1

_A quick, introductory note. I started these when I was suffering from a severe case of writer's block. There's a bunch of them, covering a wide range of subjects. I don't expect to post them in any order, so who knows what I'll pick on any given day. I certainly don't. Enjoy the randomness!_

**Hiding in Plain Light**

"An hour longer isn't going to make any difference to Jabba; we'll just hold here."

The _Millennium Falcon _hung in a tight orbit around Yavin, like a sand flea around a dirty bantha. Han finessed the controls, throttling power back so inertia held the ship in place. He powered up the sensor plot and tuned the ship's comm to the Rebel frequency.

"I'm curious, that's all." Han's eyes flicked away from the plot as he answered Chewie's question, but returned to the screen almost immediately. "You telling me you aren't a little curious? You've got your headset on, too," he pointed out to his co-pilot.

Chewbacca's answer was long and expressive.

"I know you wanted to stay, but we gotta pay Jabba."

The Wookiee snarled unpleasantly

"Fine, I gotta pay Jabba." Han spared another look away from the sensors. "You and Jabba are just great," he said with a pardonable amount of sarcasm, turning his eyes back. "No problems at all between you."

Han pressed his own headset tight against his ear as Chewie's answering laugh filled the cockpit. Then he froze and listened intently for two heartbeats, before closing his eyes in relief. His breath escaped with a whoosh.

"Yeah, that was close," Han agreed with his co-pilot's nervous snarl, "but the kid pulled out of it, and Red Two is good. He's Corellian."

Chewie barked in disbelief.

"Hey! Not all humans sound alike! Anyway, I can just tell, alright? Look at the way he flies," Han indicated a blue blip on the sensor plot. "Besides, his name's Corellian—Wedge Antilles." His lips compressed to a hard, thin line as one after another, the blue dots of Rebel ships disappeared off the plot, overrun by Imperial red.

A distressed Wookiee moan filled the cockpit.

"Keep it down, will ya?" Han scolded. A red mark marred his cheek from the pressure of his holding the earpiece against his head. "Gold Squadron's gonna make their run."

The two smugglers listened with obvious dismay as Gold leader made his run at the trench, with no success, then crashed onto the surface of the Death Star.

"I told them this was a stupid plan," Han said unnecessarily. More blue blips disappeared from the sensor screen. Beads of sweat dotted Han's upper lip; his breathing was quick and shallow.

"Chewie, plot us a quick course to the fight, keeping Yavin to our stern."

Chewie pulled his own headset away from his face as he warbled a quick question.

"Yeah, I know I said it wasn't our fight," Han reached over and punched at the controls arming the forward guns. "Do it anyway."

The Wookiee's long fingers nimbly entered the information into the controls. He grunted readiness.

"Good." Han stared at the sensor plot as if that could somehow change the outcome of the battle. His eyes hardened as he heard Red leader die. "That just leaves Luke, Red Two, and Red Three." He pointed at the three red dots pursuing Luke's and the other two blue blips. "And these three Imps," he added. "Chewie, punch it!"

Han saw the three blue dots reduced to one as the _Falcon _raced out of the angry yellow glare of Yavin's sun. His eyes were laser sharp, and his hand was steady, as he sighted on the three TIE fighters chasing Luke's x-wing through the trench. Han's finger squeezed the trigger and then there were only two TIE's. One of the Imperial pilots lost control of his ship, bouncing off the remaining TIE and sending it careening wildly into deep space before his own ship disintegrated against the wall of the trench.

"You're all clear kid! Now blow this thing and let's go home."

Seconds later, Luke's proton torpedoes dropped into the exhaust vent.

"Great shot, kid! That was one-in-a-million!" Han's smile was as bright as Yavin's sun.

The _Millennium Falcon_ sped toward the jungle moon, accompanied by two battered x-wings and a lone y-wing.

A loud Wookiee interrogatory filled the cockpit.

"Yeah, we're going back to the Rebel base." Han was still grinning.

Chewie barked out another question.

"Yeah, I know we gotta pay Jabba, but there's bound to be a helluva party after this." He turned to look at the Wookiee, his smile becoming sly. "Besides, I want to see what her Worship's gonna do when we show up."


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: So, maybe there is a little bit of a connection between some of the stories!_

**Force Feelings**

_Damn the man! Damn him to the deepest, darkest pit of all the Corellian hells! _

Leia strode into the Yavin 4 battle command center with Commander Willard. Outwardly, she seemed calm, at least as calm as anyone would expect her to be. After all, she'd just sent 30 Rebel pilots out on what might very well be their final mission—a certain amount of emotion was to be expected. And the Death Star would be in range of the base within the next 15 minutes; that fact created an understandable degree of tension as well. But deep in the well of Leia's iron self-control, a bright flare of anger burned like a reactor ready to overload, all because Captain Han Solo: pilot, smuggler, and mercenary, _had not stayed!_

"Thirty ships away, Commander, Princess," the flight control officer announced.

Commander Willard acknowledged him with a nod as he and the princess moved toward the large tactical plot. Thirty blue x's and y's floated toward the bloated red sphere representing the Death Star, but Leia's eyes unwillingly focused on the innocuous gray ellipse moving away from the other ships toward Yavin's sun. She could feel her blood pressure elevating.

_He has to follow his own path, no one can choose it for him._ She'd said those very words to Luke Skywalker no more than an hour ago, and she'd meant them. She'd believed them. But even as she'd said them she had been certain, _certain_, that in the end, Han would stay. And he hadn't.

"Gold squadron is prepping for their run; Red squadron will run interference," flight control informed them.

Leia studied the movements of the little x's and y's as they grew closer to the red sphere. The gray ellipse was moving steadily away; at any moment it would be lost behind the sun. She knew that once the _Millennium Falcon _was beyond the star's gravity well it would transition to lightspeed—and disappear forever.

For as long as she could remember, Leia had been aware of her uncanny ability to read people. She was much better at it than her own father, or any of the other diplomats she'd grown up around. It was that skill that had allowed her to be the youngest member of the Imperial senate. This particular aptitude had never been wrong-until today.

"We've picked up a new group of signals. Enemy fighters coming your way," flight control informed Red and Gold squadrons.

Leia felt her chest tighten as her hands clutched the edge of the tactical plot. Swarms of red t's spread out across the plot like a swarm of angry bees. Didn't Han know how much she—_no, the Rebel alliance!—_needed him right now?

He was different from most of the men she knew. There was no pretense, no doublespeak. Han Solo was exactly who and what he said he was. A smuggler and a mercenary. A scoundrel, her mother would have said. Leia felt hot tears fill her eyes as she remembered her mother; she quickly wiped them away.

The despairing voices from the war room brought Leia's attention back to the present. Gold leader was gone, as was most of his squadron. Red squadron was greatly diminished. She located Luke's x on the plot, relieved to see he was still fighting. Still alive.

She'd felt a bond with Luke Skywalker the moment she'd met him; it was like she'd known him her whole life. He was the best friend she'd never met. She couldn't lose him, too, after all the other losses she'd suffered this day.

Leia didn't feel that way about Han Solo, but she felt…she didn't know what she felt. It was like a taste she couldn't identify, a scent that hovered just outside her consciousness. All she knew was that the man in the garbage compacter who shoved her to the top of the heap, the man who made sure both she and Luke were safely aboard his ship when they escaped the Death Star, was not a mercenary, nor a scoundrel. Her eyes traveled toward Yavin's sun on the plot. There was no sign of the _Millennium Falcon_. Well, whatever else Han Solo was, he was gone.

It was quiet now in the war room. Leia could see it; so could everyone else in the room. The Death Star had cleared the planet; their mission had failed. Looking down at the display, Luke's single blue x was making one final attempt. There were three red t's in hot pursuit.

Only now there were only two t's. And there, streaking across the plot toward the Death Star, was one single gray ellipse.

Now there were no more red t's on the plot, only Luke's blue x and the gray ellipse hovering protectively near it.

The sound of a Corellian's ferocious whoop of joy filled the war room.

Leia's heart swelled; her sense hadn't failed her. She'd been right about him all along.


	3. Chapter 3

_I have to thank StatsGrandma57 for the prompt which inspired me to write this, but I bet this isn't what she expected. And now for something completely different..._

**No Protocol For This**

Sentients were hard enough to understand, Threepio thought testily, but the three he was now forced to spend so much time in close quarters with were nearly impossible to comprehend. He would much rather spend time with a droid. Even an irritating collection of mismatched gears and circuits like Artoo Deetoo was preferable to the two humans and the Wookiee currently inhabiting the _Millennium Falcon. _Really!

The droid had searched through every nanobit in his memory circuits and could find no file which addressed the situation he'd encountered in the electrical bay earlier today. At first he'd feared that Princess Leia must have become ill, which would be no surprise after the terrible conditions they'd had to endure on that horrible, ice-covered planet, but apparently he'd been mistaken. Certainly it was an understandable error. After all, Captain Solo had had his mouth pressed tightly over that of the Princess; Threepio was certain he was trying to resuscitate her after some sort of collapse. Obviously that was not the case, as Captain Solo had taken great pains to explain to him. There had been no need for the captain to be so unpleasant about it—after all, it had been an honest mistake—but Captain Solo was by far the most discourteous, ill-bred, ill-mannered human he had ever had the misfortune of dealing with. Threepio sniffed. He was a protocol droid, not an etiquette instructor.

After this miscomprehension had been clarified, Threepio had once again searched through his copious files on human behavior. The closest match the droid could find to the act he had witnessed concerned human mating rituals. Certainly Princess Leia wouldn't have chosen this time to procreate, they were in the middle of a war! Every protocol he could find stated that one must put duty before everything else in times of conflict.

Their behavior made no sense, though Chewbacca had assured him that the Princess and Captain Solo were behaving in a completely intelligible manner; they were in love, the Wookiee explained. Once again Threepio turned to his vast knowledge of protocol. There were copious amounts of information on human courtship. The droid would have been delighted to witness it—the gift giving, the sharing of romantic songs and poems, the preparation of a formal engagement and marriage contracts—but none of these things were happening. It was all quite vexing. Indeed, part of the time the two humans avoided all contact with each other, while at other times they fought with one another like maddened gundarks. Now they were locked in the captain's quarters, and the captain had left strict orders that they were not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Chewbacca had actually threatened to tear Threepio's legs off and eject them via the ships trash disposer if the droid even thought of intruding on their privacy. Of course, the Wookiee hadn't phrased it nearly so politely, the great, hairy beast!

Well, there was nothing else he could do about anything, right now, since he was trapped in this very undependable spacecraft. Threepio heaved an electronic sigh. He would join Chewbacca in a game of dejarik, which would take very little of his vast processing capabilities, and he would use the rest of his intelligence to sort out the perplexities of human behavior. Really!


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: It's really brutal outside here today, so I thought I'd post a gentle one._

**The Glow of the Stars**

"You're in my seat, your Worship."

Leia smiled, but said nothing. She gathered Han's jacket a little tighter around her shoulders. It wasn't particularly cold in the _Falcon_; she just liked the scent of him surrounding her. Besides, the shirt she was wearing was old and a little thin. There was no reason to give Chewie a free show.

"And you're wearing my jacket." Han dropped into the co-pilot's seat with a breathy whuff.

The princess noted that he'd dressed in a hurry; had he missed her? He'd hauled on pants and boots, but the shirt he'd thrown over his head was untucked, and the way his pants rode low on his hips, Leia was pretty sure he hadn't bothered with a belt. Of course, the last time she'd seen him he'd been sprawled naked, and snoring, on top of the welter of sheets in the narrow bunk they now shared. The corners of her mouth lifted. She wasn't sure which way she liked him better—both were pretty darn nice!

"Something funny?"

"No," she responded simply.

Han turned his head to look out through the cockpit canopy.

She watched him—her shining knight. He'd surprised her. He _always_ surprised her. He'd been so angry, back at Echo base, ready to leave and never look back. He'd had no reason to be angry, of course, but that was Han Solo for you. But when things gotten critical in the command center, he'd come back for her, making sure she was safe. He'd been protecting her ever since. Not that Leia needed protecting, of course. She felt a pleasant warmth grow inside her. It was kind of nice, though, being watched over that way.

Leia continued to study him. Han Solo was a remarkably handsome man, she thought, in an unusual, off-center sort of way, starting with his lopsided smile and working out from there. His messy-haired profile, framed now against the backdrop of slowly moving stars, was enough to take her breath away.

"What?" he asked her, turning his head to meet her stare.

"What, what?" she answered, grimacing a little at her own response.

"You were lookin' at me." He smiled, nowhere near innocently. "You like what you see?" The smug, crooked grin made her toes tingle.

"I was looking at the stars," Leia said primly.

Instead of a smart answer, Han turned back to the passing stars.

"They're beautiful," Leia observed in a hushed voice.

"Yeah."

"We almost never see them," she continued. "Traveling like this; it's like walking somewhere instead of running."

He turned to look at her, his face wry. "Somehow, when I'm with you, it seems like we're always running."

Leia refused to be baited. "This," she waved her hand at the gentle flow of stars, "is one good thing out of this trip."

"If that's the only good thing…" Han began, mock hurt mixed with manly pride filled his features, giving him a lugubrious look.

Leia laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. She slid her fingers down his arm in a tentative caress. She was too new with the physical part of their relationship to feel completely comfortable yet.

Han's hand moved to hers, covering it. He squeezed gently. "Hey," he suggested, "why don't we go back to bed."

"Han, really!" Leia hoped she didn't sound prudish, but she was tired. A quick nap might be nice, before they reached their destination.

His smile was gentle. "I meant just to sleep." He looked over at the ship's chrono. "We've got about six hours 'til we hit dirtside; four while we can still use the autopilot. I figure you can use the rest." Now the smug smile was back. "Me, too," he added.

Leia smiled smugly back, then the smile faded. "I hate to leave this," She indicated the view outside the cockpit.

Han released her hand and stood. "Don't worry," he assured her, "there'll be lots of time for us to see the stars." He held out his hand to help her up. Reluctantly, Leia took it and rose.

"Anyway," Han continued, "Bespin, Cloud City, that's a beautiful view, too." He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, you'll love it there."


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: I think this might be the very first of these stray thoughts I wrote, because I always wondered... _

**What Obi-wan Knew**

_Lunge, parry._

At most times, the Force whispered suggestions to him, quiet little hints on how he should proceed in a particular situation. Right now, it was standing upright, waving its arms and screaming at him. Not that he was particularly surprised, it didn't take a Jedi master to know that right now he might be at the biggest tipping point in the history of the galaxy.

_Feint, riposte._

Obi-wan searched with the Force; they were there, very close to him now. He could feel Luke's sense in the Force, ablaze with a strength he'd never witnessed in anyone before, yet still murky with swirls from the dark side, and Leia—he'd known they'd find her—her sense was clean and pure. He could feel the others, too, the Corellian and the Wookiee, both different from the twins, but still strong in their own ways. Even the droids emitted their own aura: the prissy protocol droid and the little astromech. Odd that Anakin's droid should be claimed by Anakin's children. The Force could work in the most convoluted ways sometimes, he thought.

_Slash, twist, retreat._

The time was fast approaching when he would be leaving this life, he knew. Obi-wan's eyes never left the black-helmeted figure in front of him. Its even mechanical breathing seemed to mock his own labored wheezing. He was an old man now, out of shape after years spent alone in the desert, doing nothing more than watching and waiting. When the call to action finally came, he was almost surprised by it. Almost. But then, the Force never surprised him completely.

_Feint, turn, thrust, parry, thrust._

His eyes darted to the landing bay, then back to his opponent. Yes! They were there, now, all of them, returning to the ship. Those six, who might very well save an entire galaxy. Luke, stronger than his father ever was, who would find his own way to the light and establish a new Jedi order; and Leia, whose own strength, spotless and unflinching, would guide the new Republic to great heights. Then there was Han Solo: clever, remarkably brave, faultlessly loyal; the idealist hiding behind the guise of a cynic. He would see that Anakin's children got safely away from this evil-ridden space station. And he would love and support Leia with a strength that couldn't be measured. Chewbacca the Wookiee had the most courageous soul Obi-wan had ever encountered. All of them would play a part in the great matters to come.

_Lunge, stumble, parry, lunge, retreat._

They were all in place; events were all in place. Yes, the future was always in motion, but Obi-wan could feel the Force pushing him forward; he was the pebble that would start the ripples in the future's murky waters. His time had finally come; a last opportunity to make things right.

"Ben?" Luke had seen him, now it was time to act.

_Lightsaber raising in one final salute, his eyes closed, waiting._

"No!"

Obi-wan heard Luke's shattered cry as if from a long distance away. It was so easy, he realized, this step from one life to the next. The slash of Vader's blade was nothing more than a gentle push.

_Floating, soaring, but still seeing._

Yes, the Corellian has shepherded Leia onto his ship; he is waiting to make sure Luke is safe as well.

_Run, Luke!_

The _Millennium Falcon _breaks free from the Death Star. They are away, events are in motion, unstoppable.

_May the Force be with them._


	6. Chapter 6

_This is another one-shot based on StatsGRandma57's 'what were they thinking?' prompts. Thank you, my dear!_

**Running in Place**

"The first transport is away."

Han lifted his head away from the weld he was working on. He watched as the pilots, ground crewers, and soldiers dotting the floor of the hangar issued a ragged cheer at the announcement.

_Maybe Leia was on that transport._

Of course she wasn't. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the Princess was still in the Command Center, and would probably remain there until Darth Vader himself marched in. He had never met a more stubborn, unyielding, immovable, bantha-brained female in his life! It would serve her right if the Imps got her.

"Ow!" He jerked his hand away from the superheated metal he'd been fusing in the _Falcon's _hyperdrive converter core, cursing himself for his carelessness. Raising his injured appendage to his mouth, he reminded himself that her Worshipfulness had made her feelings perfectly clear, and that he was a fool to even be thinking about her. What he needed to be thinking about was his ship and getting the hells off this frozen pest-hole of a planet.

"Okay," he called to Chewie, "now try it!"

In the cockpit, the Wookiee flipped the switches for the hyperdrive. Sparks shot out of the access port in the ship's hull, just as they had the four previous times they'd tried it.

"Shut it down again," he called to his copilot. Han glared down into the recesses of the hyperdrive control module and just barely resisted the urge to take a spanner and beat the _kriffing _machinery into so much shrapnel. At the rate this was going, he and Chewie would be able to greet Vader themselves, right alongside Leia.

He really needed to stop thinking about her.

The hangar was almost empty now. In the distance, Han could hear a deep thrumming sound as another transport made ready to lift off. _Nope, she wasn't on that one, either_. Damn her, anyway. Slamming down the hatch of the access bay, he waited for a group of ground troops to jog by before he climbed down from his perch on top of the ship.

As soon as his boots hit the icy floor, Han had to clutch at the nearby landing strut. Ice fell from the high ceiling as the entire structure shook from what felt like a direct hit. They had to get out of here.

"Chewie!" he called out, "start the pre-flight." More ice plummeted from above, bouncing off the _Falcon's _armored hull. A quickly raised arm protected his head. "Start the abbreviated pre-flight," he amended.

"How's structural integrity holding up?" Han asked a group of techs who were running toward the open shield doors.

"The hangar's good," one impossibly young man shouted as he ran, "but you better get going. I think the ion cannon is out; the Command Center's been hit." He loped past Han and out into Hoth's dazzling whiteness.

The Command Center.

"Chewie! Get her hot!" Han ordered.

The Wookiee stomped down the ramp, howling questions.

"I don't care what you have to do," Han answered, "get her ready to go!" Another question. "Yeah, were going as soon as I get back…the Command Center was hit."

Chewie moaned in understanding as Han headed toward the ice tunnels.

It was bad, really bad, Han realized as he made his way toward the Command Center. He moved against a constant flow of beings going the other direction. Many of them were frightened, some of them were wounded. He recognized the young officer who had been in charge of the ion cannon. Her head drooped as she was supported by two other officers; a bright, red stain spread across the front of her white uniform. At least she was still alive.

_Please let Leia be gone!_

Han rounded the corner into the Command Center.

There she was, leaning over a console, Threepio flapping nervously behind her. Of course.

"Are you alright?"

"Why are you still here?"

"I heard the Command Center'd been hit."

She was fine; that was something, even though the Center itself was in shambles. Now all he had to do was get her the hells to her transport.

Another blast rocked the base. Han barely kept his footing. Then the announcement came over the comm: Imperial troops had entered the base.

Enough! Han grabbed Leia by the arm and pulled her toward the tunnels—toward safety. In the dark recesses of another tunnel, General Rieekan halted his own escape, stopping to look over his shoulder. He offered Solo one brief, approving nod, before he turned and disappeared into the dark.

The footing was treacherous, now that there was no more time to waste. The floor was covered in a thin coating of ice from cracks in the ceiling; and it was littered with broken pieces of conduit, pools of anti-freeze from ruptured pipes, and spatters of blood. _Gods!_ This was the worst Han had ever seen, the worst he'd ever experienced. At least his four years at the Imperial Academy hadn't been for nothing—every fiber of his being told him to keep moving forward.

Han's heart beat wildly in his chest, and his labored breathing burned in his throat, but all he was aware of was the arm he held clamped tightly in one hand. She wasn't fighting him, which surprised him. She always fought him, just because she could, he'd figured. He risked moving his eyes away from their forward progress. She appeared fine; there was no sign of injury. Her face wore an expression of grim determination—and something else. Fear. Han almost stumbled. Leia Organa, last Princess of Alderaan, was scared! Even more amazing, from his point of view, was that Leia was trusting him, and his judgment, to keep her safe. Han felt a surge of warm satisfaction, and a hotter, less appropriate heat, burn deep inside him. _Gods, Solo! Put a damper on those thrusters, will you? You're trying to keep her alive, here! And yourself._

A brittle cracking sound was the only warning he had. Almost in slow motion, Han saw the ceiling directly in front of them give way; a deadly tumble of boulder-sized chunks of ice.

_Protect Leia!_

He turned away from the cave-in, spinning the princess along with him. One sharp shove in the middle of her back sent Leia face down onto the floor. Han threw himself down on top of her, shielding her small body with his larger one. Pieces of ice and scree pummeled him, though the horrible shrieking sound of the ice-fall might have been worse.

Han held his breath as the dust settled. When he felt Leia squirm beneath him, he hauled himself to his feet, watching as she raised herself to her hands and knees, then to her knees. She was alright. He sucked in air like a diver who's been under water for too long.

The huge mound of ice and broken equipment blocking their escape wasn't alright. Muttering a choice selection of Corellian curses, Han pulled his comm from his jacket.

"Transport, this is Solo. We can't get to you; I'll get her out on the _Falcon._"

Leia made a little squeaking noise as Han grabbed her by the hand, towing her back in the opposite direction. There _was_ a real woman buried underneath that icy veneer she was so insistent on wearing. Chewie better have that ship hot, because Han was going to get her safely away. He wanted to find the hot middle underneath the cool exterior!

And he loved her.

Damn!


	7. Chapter 7

_This the companion piece to_ Running in Place, _its mirror image, if you will. Thanks to StatsGrandma57 for planting the thought in my brain._

**Primal Thinking**

"Why are you still here? You've got your clearance to leave!"

Why, she wondered _was_ he still here? He was going to leave. He _told_ her he was going to leave. Leia had been sure that Han Solo was safely on his way to Tatooine, Nal Hutta, the Corporate Sector, or any place else where the Empire was not. But, no, he was standing directly behind her, so close she could feel his breath ruffle the loose wisps of hair at the back of her neck; staring at her with such intensity that it felt like he was looking directly into her soul. Leia was pretty sure he could already read her like a datapad anyway, no matter how hard she tried to hide from him. She loved that about him, except when she hated that about him.

"_Imperial troops have entered the base." _

Leia knew those six words, blasting through the comm system, were the end of Echo Base. She looked around the ruined Command Center, and at the people who were still at their posts. They needed to go. Now.

"Come on, that's it." Han's voice was strong and commanding. His hands closed firmly around her arms, as if he expected Leia to fight him. But she wouldn't, not this time, because if he helped her get safely away, that meant he would get safely away, too.

Leia gave the command signal to evacuate, and ordered the remaining staff to their transports. As Han propelled her toward one of the icy corridors, she saw Carlist Rieekan pause and look at her. He nodded once, reassuringly—much like her father would have—before he turned to head toward his own transport.

The footing in the corridor was treacherous; the boards they'd laid down to keep from slipping on the icy floor were now themselves covered with ice shaken loose from the ceiling. They were covered with other things, too, that Leia didn't want to think about. Han was moving with a single-minded ferocity that surprised her, and she was hard pressed to keep up with his longer stride. He never let her fall behind, though. His hand was always there to steady her—or to hurry her along—if she needed help. Threepio toddled along a short distance behind them. Leia would have to make sure Han didn't leave the droid behind.

Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. Leia hadn't been aware of how long a trip it was from the Command Center to the waiting transports. That needed to be changed at their next base, she noted to herself. As she looked up at the junction of two corridors, she realized that the problem wasn't the distance to the transports, so much as the fact that time seemed to have slowed down. Or perhaps it was just her perception of time, for she didn't see how Han could move them along any faster.

_What in the gods' domain was wrong with her?_ Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. But it had, one other time. When Darth Vader had interrogated her in her cell on the Death Star, in her fear, time had ground to a halt. The same thing was happening now. She was _scared! _The thought of that dark demon getting his hands on her again—or on Han—had her terrified. She told her idiot brain to behave itself, but the pounding of her heart in her throat let her know that the primitive part of her wasn't going to cooperate.

The collapse came without warning. One minute they were careening down a slippery tunnel, the next, Han was turning her around and shoving her to the ground. He threw himself down on top of her, his heavy weight reassuringly protective. She covered her ears, like a child might, to block out the awful sound of falling ice. Then, finally, it was over.

When Han lifted himself off her, she wanted to cry _No! Stay with me! _That was her primitive brain again, the lizard brain, some experts called it. She knew that it taught you what to be afraid of—and it taught you where you would be safe.

Leia pushed herself slowly to her feet, while Han let the transport know not to wait for her. It looked like she was going to have one final trip on the _Millennium Falcon_, after all, if that heap of mismatched parts was even capable of flight. The last time Leia had seen it, Chewie and Han had been hovering over it like med-droids over a critically ill patient. Somehow, that wasn't very reassuring.

"Come on," Han snarled, grabbing her arm again, towing her back in the direction they'd just come from.

They slipped and slid along the now deserted corridor. The only sounds Leia heard were Threepio's shuffling footsteps behind them; and those of the battle raging just outside the base.

Han halted in front of a doorway, resting his hand in the small of her back as he fumbled with the locking mechanism. Leia wondered why, at this moment, that simple touch felt like an ionic charge. _You are safe here, _her lizard brain informed her, _protected. _There was no way Leia was going to argue that concept with her primitive self. The last hour had shown her just how much Han was willing to do to keep her safe.

The door slid open. Han pulled Leia through, then released her hand to run full speed toward Chewie, who was standing in front of the _Falcon, _waving his arms and shouting frantically in _Shyriiwook._

_You are loved,_ her extra sense whispered to her as she followed Han across the now deserted hangar deck. _Oh, no. No, no, no! _That isn't possible, Leia argued with herself. That isn't going to happen while we're running for our lives. _NO! That isn't going to happen at all!_

On board, Leia found Han and Chewbacca desperately trying to get the _Falcon _ready for flight. They flipped switches, pushed buttons, banged on consoles. Apparently satisfied that the ship stood a chance of becoming space-borne, Han dropped into the pilot's seat.

"This bucket of bolts isn't going to get us past that blockade," Leia announced scornfully, hoping it hid the panic she was feeling. She stood behind Han, her hands gripping the back of his seat.

"This ship's still got a few surprises left, sweetheart," he informed her.

This time he was right, Leia thought with relief. As they flew out into open air, she turned her head toward the main tunnel from the Command Center. Leia wasn't sure, but she _thought _she saw the black armor and cape of Darth Vader heading toward the now empty hangar. She shivered.

_You are safe, you are protected. _Leia nodded acknowledgement to her primitive voice.

_You are loved, and you love._

Damn! Leia thought.


	8. Chapter 8

_It's been awhile, so I thought I'd post a new one!_

**The Night Before**

Leia looked down at the bounty hunter's clothes, spread carefully over one of the few chairs in the small house. She'd cleaned the garments as best as she could, but the thought of wearing them for any length of time still made her skin twitch. _Come on, Leia, _she chastised herself, _it's not as if you're going to turn into a mass murderer just by wearing a new outfit!_ No, she thought sadly, she could kill just fine, even when she was wearing Princess white.

Six months ago, when Han was tortured, frozen in carbonite, and turned over to one of the most notorious Mandolorian bounty hunters, all at the behest of Darth Vader and the Empire; that was the day Leia had experienced a rage like nothing she'd ever felt before. Her fury had been strong, dark, and impenetrable. She'd killed stormtroopers, blindly, without a thought other than _someone needed to pay for what had been done to Han. _She would have stayed and killed them all if Lando Calrissian hadn't pulled her away. Now she was terrified of ever feeling that way again. And tomorrow, tomorrow might be the day that she would experience that dark feeling again. If something went wrong; if something had happened to Han… She nervously paced the circumference of the small sleeping alcove in Ben Kenobi's abandoned house for what must have been the hundredth time.

"Ahem."

Leia gave an involuntary smile and turned at the sound of the mechanical throat clearing. Threepio was the most unusual protocol droid she'd ever encountered! His subroutines made him more human than some people she knew.

"Princess Leia, Master Luke instructed me to ask you if there was anything you needed me to do for you."

"Thanks, Threepio, but I'm fine for the night." That was a lie if Leia had ever told one.

"Very well, your Highness. I'm going to shut down to recharge. Master Luke says tomorrow will be a very busy day." He somehow managed to look uncomfortable at the thought.

"Good night, Threepio."

The gold-colored droid shuffled away to a power jack and attached himself. Moments later his photoreceptor cells went dark.

Across the small living area, Luke watched her without saying a word. With a wry smile, Leia gave up all pretense of calmness and joined him on the hard bench built into the wall. Obi-Wan had certainly lived with a minimum of creature comforts, she thought.

Luke Skywalker was a changed man in the past six months. He sat, dressed all in black, exuding a sense of stillness and competence. All traces of the naïve farm boy were gone. The supreme irony was that at right this minute they were approximately 20 kilometers from the moisture farm where he had grown up. Leia realized that the new, somber Luke made her a little uncomfortable, even while she was amazed at his new-found Jedi skills.

"Are you okay?" he asked her gently.

"I'm fine," she answered with uncharacteristic sharpness.

"Leia?"

With the gentle pressure of Luke's gaze, Leia's façade cracked.

"No!" Leia's voice was rough, broken. "I'm not okay." She looked down and away. "I'm scared," she admitted. "I'm as scared as I've been since Vader froze him." Tears filled her brown eyes.

"We're going to get him back, Leia."

"What if he's sick? Injured? Worse than what the doctors say to expect from the hibernation sickness?" The more Leia thought about it, the worse her fears became. "What if he's dead?" In the dim light of Obi-wan Kenobi's old house, Leia's face was white.

Luke laid his steady hand over Leia's trembling one. His encouraging smile made him look more like the farm boy he had been than the Jedi he now was. "He's not dead. You know the first thing Lando did was check the readings."

"Lando, I don't trust…" Leia began, then stopped. She trusted the man, right up until the time she didn't.

"Leia," Luke gently squeezed her fingers. "If Han were dead, I would know it."

She studied his face for a long moment, then nodded.

"You trust me, don't you?"

Leia didn't hesitate. "Of course I do," she said.

"Tomorrow night we'll have him back."

She nodded again, then turned away from the Jedi to look out the small window into the night. They both knew the process which would free Han from the carbonite sarcophagus he'd been trapped in for the last six months could cause more damage to him than the freezing process had, though neither one of them would say it.

"He'll be fine, Leia," Luke said. "How can he not be? He has you waiting for him."

Leia's head snapped around to look at him. In the past six months, the two friends had carefully avoided discussing Leia's feelings for Han, or Luke's feelings for Leia. Now the need for that conversation was obvious, like a krayt dragon in the middle of a bantha herd.

"Luke, I," Leia began, but her thoughts stalled before she got any further. She didn't want to hurt Luke's feelings, but she had to say how she felt. She just didn't know how to—some diplomat she was!

"You love him, Leia. I know that." Luke's smile was tranquil. "I've known it for a long time."

A weight she hadn't known she was carrying lifted from her shoulders. Then her eyes narrowed.

"So, why were you always, uh, acting like you wanted to…" Leia stumbled to a halt.

This time Luke's smile was a little embarrassed. "I didn't say I wanted to know it, but I did. I think everyone knew, except maybe you and Han." The smile faded. "You two sure put up a good front."

"He knew." Leia's voice was so small, Luke didn't hear her.

"What?"

"He knew." Tears she'd held at bay for the last six months now streamed down her face. "Right before they put him in, into the freezing chamber, I told him I loved him." Leia's words came out in a rush. "He said 'I know.' It's the last thing he said to me."

"Leia, Han _knows_ you love him. He knows, because he loves you."

Luke held the Princess's small form while she cried, great gulping sobs. She couldn't stop herself from crying now, she'd held it in for so long. Oddly, she was aware that this was the first time Luke had ever held her. It felt right that he could comfort her as a friend; she wondered why they'd ever thought it could be anything more.

The sobs finally subsided. Leia wiped at her blotchy, tear-streaked face with the back of her hand.

"Thanks for letting me do that," she hiccoughed. "It's the first time I have since…since I lost him."

"Do you feel better?"

"No."

Luke raised one questioning eyebrow, in a fair imitation of their lost friend.

"I won't feel better until I know he's safe," Leia explained. "But at least now I feel ready to go and get him."


	9. Chapter 9

_My thanks to StatsGrandma57 for beta-ing this piece. Loved your suggestions._

**Breathing**

The figure in white stood framed by blackness; one tiny shape silhouetted against the vastness of space.

Leia wondered how many times she'd done this before. How many times had she stood and wondered—is this the time he doesn't come back?

At first it had been easy for her. He told her that he didn't care—that it was her fight, not his. If he went away and never came back she could be angry with him. And, then, like an exhaled breath, she would forget about him.

But he always came back.

Then it began to change, so subtly at first. He said it was her fight, but he fought it anyway. Because it was for her. He told her he would leave, but he always came back.

And she could breathe.

Until the day it became their fight. They fought together, against the Empire, against _him,_ the Dark One; until for her—he let them win. They took him away from her, and she feared he wouldn't come back.

And until he was with her again—she couldn't breathe.

Now it was his fight. It was the same fight as her fight—against tyranny and enslavement—but he fought now because he believed it was wrong. Even though he'd always believed it was wrong.

And until he was home safe, she wouldn't breathe.

Leia waited, standing at the docking bay viewport. It took all of her willpower to not press her face against the transparisteel. It had been five weeks since she'd last seen Han, five weeks since she'd last spoken to him. She understood why he'd gone, why he had to fight this fight.

It was just that while he was gone, she couldn't breathe.

She wondered how they dared. All the people who loved someone, knowing the ones they loved could go away and never come back. How did they stand the pain—so strong it seemed almost alive? It ate you from the inside out; leaving nothing but a dead, breathless shell.

"Princess, we have contact with the ship."

Leia's heart had seen it, long before the sensitive tracking instruments had detected it. A tiny dot on the very edge of space, growing closer. Coming home.

She held herself perfectly still as the ship landed; willed herself motionless as the ramp descended. Then—there he was. He looked pale, tired, his shoulders hunched as if under an unbearable weight.

Leia ran, her shoes clattering on the deck plating as she hurtled toward him. She didn't know who could see her; she didn't care. His shoulders straightened and his arms opened wide when he saw her. A welcoming smile lit his face.

She threw herself into him with such force she might have run straight through him. His arms closed around her with bruising force. Tears poured down her face.

"Hey, Flyboy!" she said through her tears.

"Hey, your Worship." His arm curled around her shoulders as they walked through the docking bay—toward home.

Later, much later, Leia curled herself against him, so close she they were nearly one. The beat of his heart was steady and true. One of his hands rested proprietarily around her waist, the other idly twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. Her fingers gently traced his lips.

"Leia?'

"Yes, Han?"

"I love you."

"I know."

And she could breathe.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sometimes these things happen. This came out of nowhere as kind of a codicil to Breathing. Thanks to StatsGrandma57 for doing a beta. Any mistakes left over are mine, all mine. Also, please note, this chapter is rated _**M** _for some sexual content._

**Returned To Me**

Leia stretched contentedly and sighed almost inaudibly. Her movements were delicate and catlike; she didn't want to disturb the other occupant of the bed. It wasn't that she didn't have plenty of room, it was just that after five weeks of being apart, the princess wasn't quite ready to be away from him just yet, even if the distance was mere centimeters, rather than the hundreds of light years it had been, up until last night.

Han Solo moaned a little in his sleep, but didn't move. He looked so tired! Leia knew that his hunt for the renegade warlord—and the slavers said warlord had employed—had been taxing for him, both physically and emotionally. The fact that he'd been successful, this time, was cold comfort. For every slaver that was eliminated, it seemed as if there were two more ready to step into that depraved being's footprints.

Propping herself up on one elbow, Leia drank in the sight of her sleeping lover. He'd lost weight, she noted; his ribs and clavicles appeared in sharper definition than they had five weeks ago. Obviously his appetite had suffered along with the rest of him. She would just have to be sure that he ate now that he was home. Her lips quirked in a wry smile. Her cooking hadn't improved any in his absence, Leia reminded herself, and the take-away meals she'd been living on had been less than satisfying. Well, she was an intelligent woman, she admonished herself, she'd find a way to remedy the situation, even if it meant hiring a cook—or taking cooking lessons herself, gods forbid!

With her free hand, the princess tenderly brushed the hair away from his forehead, then—butterfly soft—ran her fingers across his cheek, and down across his stubbly chin. Leia traced the outline of his lips with one finger, and stroked her thumb along the scar on his chin. Han remained still, except to turn his face into the gentle touch.

He didn't appear to have any fresh scars, Leia noted with relief. Thank the maker! He already had enough of them on his body. She didn't like to think about how he'd gotten them, both the ones he'd had before she'd met him—like the one on his chin—and the ones he'd received since. A vain man would have had them removed; Leia was sure Lando Calrissian didn't have a mark on his body. She chuckled aloud at the thought of Han Solo going in for cosmetic treatments.

_Sithspit _Leia muttered to herself, as Han shifted in the bed. She'd tried so hard not to disturb him; he needed his sleep. She watched his eyelids flutter, but he didn't waken, instead he merely shifted to a different position. Watching appreciatively as his well-defined muscles slid easily under his skin and over his bones, Leia found herself wondering what remarkable quirk of the Force had allowed her the opportunity to know and love this remarkable man. Not only was he a magnificent physical specimen—at least in her opinion, the princess grinned—but he was a magnificent being: courageous, loyal, intelligent, and honorable in ways few could challenge. She was, quite possibly, the luckiest woman in the galaxy.

"Whaddaya lookin' at?" Han mumbled sleepily. His eyes were mere slits, the hazel color barely visible.

"You," Leia answered honestly.

"Like what you see?" He folded his arms behind his head and grinned lopsidedly at her.

Leia felt her pulse quicken. "Always." She ran her hand through the silky hair on his chest, stopping to play with his nipple.

"Mmmmm," was all Han said as she leaned over to tease his ear with her tongue, but she could feel his heartbeat speed-up in response until it matched hers.

Han's skillful hands moved over Leia's body, stroking down her rib cage to cup her hips. She felt herself go damp as he hoisted her body on top of his. She reached her mouth to his; tasting his breath as their tongues tangled. Her fingers threaded through his thick hair.

"Hmmmph," Han mumbled, pulling his mouth away from Leia's

"What?!" Leia objected. This was not the time for conversation.

He ran his hands back along her ribs, causing Leia to moan. "You're too skinny," Han muttered into her hair.

This time she jerked her head back. "What?" she asked again.

"I can feel your bones. You haven't been eating right."

Her eyes crinkled with amusement at that irony. "We'll have a good meal later." Leia reached down to stroke him and was rewarded by feeling him harden, rock solid under her ministrations. "Not now!"

Han punctuated his groan of pleasure by plunging deep inside her. Leia dug her hands into his shoulders as they soared to a shimmering, shuddering climax.

When they were spent, they lay quietly together, a tangle of sweaty limbs. Han idly twirled a strand of Leia's damp hair around a finger as she stroked his chest.

"Are you hungry?" she asked him suddenly.

"I could eat," he answered. "Are clothes required?"

"Only to answer the door when they deliver."


	11. Chapter 11

**Feeling Like a Woman**

_**Introduction:**__ This story was inspired by StatsGrandma57 and her story _The Red Dress. _I was suffering from one of my cases of writer's block, and she suggested I take this tiny part of her story and embellish it. So I did. So for this to make sense, you have to also read _The Red Dress. _And I owe her my undying gratitude for getting me unstuck. Again. Thank you, my dear!_

Never once had Leia regretted her involvement with the Rebel Alliance. It was the right thing to do; it was the only thing she could do. She never complained about running from base to base. She never complained about the overwork, the bad food, the terrible living conditions. She never even expressed any displeasure at getting shot at—no matter how frequently that happened. No, Leia never complained about anything. Ever.

But, oh, the clothes! A lady of her diminutive stature never had an easy time getting clothes that fit. Of course, that had never been a problem growing up; one of the many perks of being a princess was the fact that people made your clothes for you, just for you. And they fit! Now, however, she got her uniforms from the quartermaster, the same as everyone else. No, not like everyone else, Leia had to concede. Since she was the 'face' of the Rebellion, she always got the best. Gods help the people who got the worst! Still, every garment they gave her had to be altered, and the Rebel Alliance was short on tailors. All of her uniforms were tucked, gathered, cut and re-sewn. She firmly believed that it was just luck that kept them together. And even with all this, Leia still spent entirely too much time when she dressed rolling up sleeves and waistbands.

Then there was the unspoken but very definite necessity of undergarments. The only ones that Leia had of her own were the ones she'd been wearing when Darth Vader and his star destroyer captured the Tantive IV. Somehow, in the midst of her securing the Death Star plans in Artoo, being captured by Darth Vader, then being transferred first to the star destroyer, then to the Death Star, Leia had never thought to stop and say _Wait, let me just run and pack a bag. _If, by some miracle, her personal belongings had ended up on the Death Star, after Luke and Han had freed her from her cell, there just hadn't been any chance for her to ask them to wait while she hunted down her bras and panties!

So, the last princess of Alderaan was making do. Mostly she begged and borrowed from the other human females on base. However, it wasn't like that they had a lot to spare; they were at war, after all. But Leia did the best she could, saving the one set that was originally hers for special occasions—like medal ceremonies.

She hadn't been wearing that set when they escaped from Hoth. Allowing for what had transpired between herself and Han on the trip to Bespin, she really wished she had been.

Bespin, and more specifically, Cloud City, had been a pleasant surprise. The notion of a tibanna gas mine had conjured images in her mind of a rough and tumble settlement, but Cloud City was quite a cosmopolitan place. Leia allowed herself a small smile; after having met Lando Calrissian, she realized he wouldn't live any place else! Now, as he stood with Han behind her in the dressmaker's shop, Lando was completely at his ease—and poor Han was not.

Sympathizing with Han, Leia tore her eyes away from the fascinating sight of watching her red outfit being created by a being with six arms, and turned to smile up at him.

"How are the repairs coming along?" she asked him. "Do you need to go and check on anything?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about anything, your Highness. My people know exactly what needs to be done," Lando said with a suave smile. Leia found herself wondering if he practiced it.

Han gave a small shrug. "I'm sure Lando is taking care of things. I'm not worried." He didn't sound quite convinced. "Besides, Chewie went to check on the progress. And he's trying to track down Goldenrod," Han scowled. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot as he looked around at the brightly colored garments hanging from the multitudinous racks in the shop.

Lando's gaze wandered from Leia to Han; this time his smile seemed genuine. "Han, my friend, why don't we give the lady a little time to pick out a few more outfits. My treat," he interjected quickly when Leia started to object. "I don't think she needs our help with that."

Han stepped forward, gently moving Leia out of Lando's hearing. "Are you okay here by yourself?" he asked her softly. His eyes scanned the chaotic shop while his hand moved, seemingly of its own volition, to the handgrip of his blaster.

Leia felt a warm tingle at Han's obvious concern for her, even while she thought he was overreacting, just a bit. "I'll be fine." She popped up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. Over his shoulder, she made sure Lando saw. She wanted to be sure he knew exactly where her loyalties lay.

"Come on, Han." Lando laid a hand on Han's shoulder. "Let's go check out my ship."

The look Han shot at him would have dropped a less supremely self-assured man in his tracks. Lando just kept smiling.

Han looked carefully at the princess, who graced him with an encouraging smile before she pointedly turned back to the tailor. She gave a small sigh of relief—or maybe it was nervousness—as she heard the two men leave.

The beautiful fabric was quickly becoming a beautiful outfit. Yeshida did amazing work, Leia thought. She couldn't wait to get out of her miserable snow fatigues. It would be so nice to feel like a woman—and she figured Han would appreciate it, too. Then she remembered her too big, oft washed underthings. She sighed.

Yeshida looked up. "Is there something I can do for you?" she asked politely.

"It's just…" Leia paused, momentarily uncomfortable. She swallowed her pride. "I really don't have anything appropriate to wear underneath that beautiful fabric," she explained finally. Gods, she hoped she wasn't blushing!

The tailor smiled sympathetically. "Of course. I understand completely. If you just step over there," she paused her work long enough to point with one of her hands to a small alcove across the shop, "I'm sure you'll find something that you'll like." Yeshida's smile shifted to the bawdy. "And something that handsome captain will like as well."

"Am I that obvious?" Now Leia _knew_ she was blushing.

"He is too, dear!"

Leia stepped into the small space, filled with tables covered in soft pink cloths. Gods! It was beautiful—all of it! Leia reached out to touch a lacy bra made from almost translucent shimmersilk, then strayed over to sleek shift the color of sunrise. One of the tables was devoted to panties; every one of them a confection of color and fabric. If they weren't in the middle of a bloody war; and if she and Han weren't running for their lives, she might have bought every single item here. She hadn't realized how much she missed being a woman.

But they were fighting a war—and running for their lives. With a sigh, Leia dropped the gossamer panties back onto the table. Then she picked them back up. If Lando was paying, he'd expect her to buy a few things. He'd get suspicious if she didn't, wouldn't he? Looking around, she found a bra that matched. She felt a self-satisfied smile tug at her lips. Han had wanted her to get some girl clothes, hadn't he? Just wait until he saw these, or rather, until he saw _her _in these! She selected a few more panties, and two more bras. These were more practical than the other set, but even a soldier needed underwear. As she walked back to Yeshida, she snagged the shift off the table as well. Lando _was_ paying, after all.

The tailor had just finished with the red outfit. "Ah," she cried approvingly, "those are perfect. Here, dear, why don't you go and try this on."

Leia accepted the beautiful red garment and headed to a changing alcove. This would all be perfect, she thought, if she didn't have such a bad feeling about this whole trip.


	12. Chapter 12

_Fair warning: this one contains implied character death._

**The Anniversary**

Leia was grateful for the quiet. Under the circumstances it seemed counterintuitive, but today of all days she didn't want the constant questions. _Are you all right? Can I do anything? _They were meant kindly, she knew, but how was she supposed to answer them? Of course she was all right; what choice did she have? And unless someone could work the miracle of turning back time, there was nothing anyone could do for her.

It had been four standard months since Han had died. _Died_, not passed on, or left, or any of the other euphemisms people used, thinking it would ease the pain. It didn't, and Leia had always been one to face unpleasant facts head on. Han Solo was dead; there was no coming back from this one.

Drawing in a deep breath, Leia looked around the empty flat—the home she and Han had built, starting so many years ago. So much had happened here. First, there had been the twins. Now they were both gone to live their own lives, have their own adventures, find their own loves. Little Anakin, not so little any more, was finishing up his last year at the Academy. Even Jarik, so much like his father, was off finishing his studies. Those four amazing human beings had started here, and grown here, and were loved here in the home their mother and father had made for them.

Leia shut down her terminal; she wasn't getting any work done anyway. She should have gone into the office to work, just like she did every other day, but everyone kept telling her she should take this day off. She needed to stop listening to everyone, just like she had so many years ago on this day; the day she married Han.

She rose stiffly from her seat, her knees making unpleasant popping sounds. Leia really needed to see the medical droids again and get them fixed. A part of her rebelled, though. Maybe she finally understood what Mon Mothma had told her so many years ago; why she should she try to hide her age—she'd earned every line, gray hair, and creaking joint.

Today was their anniversary. She wondered, should she now call it _her_ anniversary? No, it would always be _their_ anniversary. After all, she hadn't been there alone on her wedding day, had she? Han might not be able to share those happy memories with her ever again, but he would always be there in those memories.

He'd been so wonderfully, perfectly Han-like that day; Leia smiled at the thought. He'd looked absolutely gorgeous in his formalwear, one look at him and Leia's mouth had gone dry—in admiration and anticipation. And in typical Han Solo fashion, his mood, his public mood, had wavered somewhere between uncomfortable terror at being in the center of attention for two-thirds of the known galaxy, and laughing exasperation at the circus their wedding had become. It was only after they'd left the celebration behind them and gone home to the flat—their home—and Han had smiled that wonderful, lopsided grin and taken Leia in his arms, that she knew she'd never be lonely or alone again.

Until now.

Leia wandered into the bedroom, drawn to the holo taken on their wedding day. With an unsteady hand, she plucked it off the shelf where it had been displayed for so many years. They looked so happy, she thought, and so young! She smiled through the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. That day, it had felt as if they had all of eternity in front of them.

Still clutching the holo, Leia sat on the end of the bed. She drew in a deep, wavering breath. She'd known—somehow, she'd always known—that Han would be the one to go first, leaving her behind. It wasn't the Force, foreseeing the future, nearly as much as it was common sense. He was older than she was, his early years had been so much harder than hers, and there were those six months spent frozen in carbonite. Leia had known, and thought she was prepared. But really, how could you ever be prepared?

_Han, _Leia thought miserably, _I miss you!_ Tears streamed down her face now; she didn't even try to stop them. She'd never see that beautiful, crooked grin again; or feel the touch of his hand or the soft brush of his lips. Never again would she have a chance to argue with him, make love with him, or just talk to him! There was a hole in her now, one that could never be filled. The other half of her, the part that made her whole, was forever gone.

Leia was so lost in her own sweet agony, that she didn't hear the door to the flat whoosh open, or the soft inquiry as to where the princess was. Leia wasn't even aware that Chewie was in the room with her until he gently warbled her name. She looked up to see her old friend standing in front of her, a kitchen towel clutched in his huge hands. Wordlessly, he handed her the towel. While Leia mopped her wet face, the Wookiee sat down next to her on the bed, causing it to dip precariously in his direction.

"Thanks, Chewie," Leia sniffed. "I didn't hear you come in."

He rumbled softly to her.

"No, it's okay. I know I said I wanted to be alone, but I'm glad you came."

Chewie reached out and brushed a loosened strand of hair away from her face. He rumbled again.

"You're right, this is harder than I thought it would be." Leia looked into Chewie's sad blue eyes. His Malla had died five years ago. The Wookiee probably understood her feelings better than most. He reached out and gently took the holo from her hands, looking fondly at the face of his old friend before he set it aside. He pulled Leia up against his side and put his arm around her shoulder. He warbled encouragingly.

Leia smiled, a real smile this time.

"You're right, Chewie. No matter how hard it is, we have to remember all the joy."


	13. Chapter 13

_And this is the complete opposite of the last one! :) _

**The Heart Wants What the Heart Wants**

"Leia?"

Winter peered through the trees in the Alderaan Memorial Garden. She was sure she'd seen the princess come this way earlier. She stepped softly; if Leia had come come this way for private prayer or meditation she didn't want to disturb her. On the other hand, if he friend was here to mourn, Winter would do her level best to put a stop to it. Tonight, of all nights, was the time for joyous anticipation, not melancholy.

"Leia!" Winter's voice was more strident now.

"I'm here."

"Where?"

The princess came out from behind an old hydenock tree and looked curiously at the other woman.

"Is there a problem? Please tell me there isn't a problem, not tonight." _Don't let the gods hate me that much,_ she thought.

Winter smiled at the slightly hysterical tone in Leia's voice. She was acting just like any other woman on the night before her wedding—anxious and excited—not grieving the loss of a world.

"No, there's no problem. I just wanted to make sure you were alright." Winter waved her hand at the surrounding garden. "You don't usually come here, except to mourn." Now she waved her finger under Leia's nose. "There will be no mourning tonight!" she scolded.

"No, I'm not mourning," Leia reassured her friend, laughing a little. "I just needed a little time to unwind." She smiled wryly. "I'm beginning to agree with Han; we should have eloped."

"I thought you tried that on Dathomir," Winter teased.

"No, that was kidnapping, something completely different."

Both women laughed.

"Okay," Winter chuckled, "but don't stay out here too long."

"If you're going to say I need my beauty sleep, I'm going to send Chewie after you. You know I'm part of that life-debt now, too."

"I was going to remind you that there will be approximately a thousand guests tomorrow. You're going to need all your strength." Winter leaned forward and kissed her friend on the cheek. "Don't stay out here too long."

"Yes, Mom!" Leia smiled as she watched Winter make her way through the trees and grass.

Mom, she thought. That's who should be fussing over her tonight, her mother.

Leia walked through the trees toward an intricately carved bench. Sitting, she looked around the small glade. This was her favorite part of the gardens.

"Mama?" Leia said softly, trying the word on her tongue.

"Mama? I know I don't talk to you enough; I'm sorry about that." Leia began conversationally. "It's just that usually I'm worried about some government thing—and father's always best for that. I know, I know, you're a queen! But you were always my mother first, and for that I'm grateful." Leia smiled at the look she knew would be on her mother's face. "I guess we haven't talked since," she paused and swallowed, "since Han was gone. You were right about that, I needed to go after him."

Leia's fingers traced the carving on the bench. "I'm going to marry Han tomorrow, Mama. But I suppose you already know this; I never could fool you." A soft smile spread across her face. "I know he's not the type you were hoping I'd marry—in fact, I know he's not—but I don't care! I love him. I love him more than I've ever loved anyone before."

With an impatient gesture, Leia stood, turning to address the empty bench. "I have no idea how it happened. One minute I was alone, almost more alone than I could bear, the next, there he was! He's been there ever since. I didn't plan it—at first I didn't want it—now I know I can't live without it. I can't live without him." She drew a deep breath and sat back down.

"Mama, I know I'm doing the right thing, but I just wanted to tell you about it. What did you always tell me? The heart will know…"

"The heart wants what the heart wants." Han's voice came from behind her.

Leia leapt to her feet and spun around.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, a little more sharply than was necessary. "I thought you and your friends were supposed to be saying goodbye to your last hours of freedom."

"It got boring pretty fast." Han moved close to her, took one of her hands in his. "I don't have anything to say goodbye to. I'm not losing anything, but I'm gaining everything."

_See what I mean, Mama?_

"How long have you been standing there?" Leia sputtered. As she tugged her hand away, she could feel an embarrassed flush creep over her cheeks. Kriff! It had been years since she'd blushed. She was sure he'd been listening to her.

"Don't worry, your Worship," He grinned down at her. "I won't tell anyone you talk to yourself."

"You stuck-up, self-centered—"

Han caught her hand before she could take a swing at him. He brought it to his lips and kissed it.

"Leia," he said tenderly, "it's okay. I know you must wish your parents were here. I understand." Han pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

"Where did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" he asked her, not sure what she was talking about.

"About what the heart wants." She smiled slyly up at him. "It's not what a thief and a smuggler normally says."

"I'm not your normal thief and smuggler, your Worship. I thought you'd figured that out by now." His face sobered. "I think every world has a saying like that. It's true."

Leia leaned in against him for several moments, just enjoying his closeness.

"How did you know where I was?" she asked him suddenly. "Winter didn't comm you or anything, did she? If she did…"

"Hey! Winter's innocent. I just figured this is where you'd be."

He always knew her, Leia thought. "And," she prompted him.

"And I wanted to see you. Tomorrow's a big day, lots of people. I just wanted you to myself for a minute."

Leia reached up to kiss him.

"I love you," she said.

"I know."

He always did.


	14. Chapter 14

**Constant**

**Black**.

A void without the boundaries of time or sensation.

A great big, wide awake, nothing.

The essence of Han Solo—the untouchable kernel of him that had survived the numbing pain of carbonite freezing, that had ridden out the waves of hallucinations caused by unending sensory deprivation, that hadn't been leeched away into unanchored darkness—wondered idly if he'd miss the nothing if it, too, were gone.

Nope.

Because he still had one thing: a pair of dark eyes set in a pale, oval face; soft lips greedy for one last touch, one last taste; a flood of emotion that couldn't be held back.

"I love you!"

He knew.

It anchored him like bedrock.

It was all he needed.

####

**It was still black.**

But the black was different now. There was sound; Han remembered sound. There was a humming, a rushing of wind. And other sensations: wet; and cold, so very cold.

Then there was movement. It had been so long. He was falling and he couldn't remember how to stop himself.

Then there was pain, and fear. Han had to admit that he hadn't missed either of those things, but they were things he remembered. He reached up his hands, surprised that he still knew how to do so, and felt a form, hard and unfamiliar.

"Who are you?"

A voice came out of the black.

"Someone who loves you."

"Leia!"

It was all he needed.

####

**The black was gone, not that he missed it.** In its place there had been gray fog, and then white fog. Now it was a brown fog, swirling and constantly moving. It was making him dizzy. But it was the sandstorm that was making him feel this way, nothing more. And he could feel Leia's hands on his arm, guiding him. They'd be back to the ship soon, and the fog would be gone.

His ship! It was the most beautiful thing he'd seen since Bespin. Well, the second most beautiful thing, he conceded, as he felt Leia's hands release him. Han stumbled up the ramp and inside the _Falcon_, his hands touching, testing. He blinked his eyes, desperate to clear the last of the fog. She was just as he remembered her: tacky, well-worn, and a little scruffy—he could actually feel the huge smile on his face. He wiped a tear from the corner of one eye, embarrassed. But that was because of the sandstorm, too, wasn't it?

Han's knees wobbled and he reached out blindly for the nearest bulkhead. But, instead of cool metal, he felt the warmth of Leia's hand, strong and sure.

"Come on, Flyboy," she teased, "I think you've had enough excitement for a while."

Blinking and squinting, Han tried to focus on the princess. What he could see of her just made him try to see that much more.

"Uh, Leia? What're you wearing?" Han swiped at his eyes with his free hand. Was it possible the hallucinations had returned? There was quite a bit of Leia's creamy skin in evidence.

"Nothing you're ever likely to see me wearing again," she replied tartly. She moved to intercept his hand, which was moving inquisitively toward her breast, but halted when she realized he was trying to grasp her chin in his hand. Instead, Leia guided the hand to her face. She pressed her cheek into his tender caress.

"Leia…"

"Han," she looked up, appraising him. "I think we'd both be a lot happier if you cleaned up a little, got out of those filthy clothes." Leia spoke briskly, sparing no room for argument.

"Only if I can get you out of yours." Han squinted owlishly at her. It didn't come close to the leer he'd been trying for.

Leia only rolled her eyes. With an arm around his waist, she guided him back to his quarters.

Every ache and every bruise he'd acquired in the last day vied for Han's attention. Also in the running were the injuries which hadn't healed during six months of forced hibernation. He would like nothing better than to slip into oblivion and let—

NO! Han wasn't quite ready to face the black again. He felt his heart race.

Leia must have felt it, too. Wordlessly, she gave his midsection a gentle squeeze and led him into the cabin—their cabin.

In less time than seemed possible, Han was clean, changed, and reclining in his bunk. He hoped Leia didn't see the hand he clenched in the sheets. He was hovering just on the edge of the blackness, and he wasn't quite ready to go back there yet. But neither could he show her his fear.

As if it happened every day, Leia slipped out of her out of her clothes and into the bunk next to Han. She curled up against him, resting her head on his chest.

Han threaded a hand through her hair; he could feel her heart beating—so close to him. Defiantly, he closed his eyes and accepted the black. Maybe, if he was lucky, this would happen every day.

She was all he needed.

####

**He stepped out into the night. **In the trees above him, he could hear a multitude of sounds, but he couldn't see what caused them in the blackness.

Leia stood alone on the rope bridge; Luke had just walked off into the darkness. Han could tell she was upset. She looked small, fragile. Leia never looked fragile. What had Luke said to her that had made her so upset?

"What's going on?"

"I, uh," Leia gulped, or was it a sob? "It's nothing. I just want to be alone."

"It's not nothing!" Han could feel the darkness start inside him. It scared him, because he didn't know what the cause was. Was it the black of anger because Leia wouldn't trust him? Or of jealously because she turned to Luke instead of him? No, the blackness that threatened to surround him was fear—fear that he would lose her—just when he'd found her. Fear that he'd have to live without her.

"Could you tell Luke?" Han hated the anger and the jealousy, but most of all, he hated the fear. "Is that who you could tell?" He turned from her, from the heart-sick possibility of losing her.

"Han!" Leia called. "Just…hold me."

He held her. He held onto her.

She was everything he wanted.

####

**It was bright, really bright, but he wasn't going to complain about it. **Han thought that maybe he'd never complain about brightness again. However, that didn't mean he wouldn't complain about being stuck in a room with Madine, Mon Mothma, and the other Alliance leaders. He ran a hand along the back of his neck. Sith but these people could carry on!

"What's your opinion, General Solo?"

"Huh? What?" His eyes slid back into focus. He looked around the room. "Well, we blew the thing up again, didn't we?" Han observed. "I think this'll probably be the last time."

Several seats away, General Lando Calrissian swallowed a choking laugh. Leia shot Han the Look: sharp eyes that said don't be a laser brain, and a twitching mouth that hinted that maybe she thought he was cute when he was being one.

Mon Mothma sighed almost imperceptibly, but Han heard her, as he was supposed to.

He drew a breath, a less-than-diplomatic comment ready on his lips, but then Han felt Leia's hand on his leg, unseen by the room's other occupants.

He moved his hand next to hers. _C'mon Solo, _he chided himself, _it's your fight now, too!_

"I think blowing the Death Star—again," he inserted with a quick grin, "and the death of Palpatine, was probably a really big deal, but it's not the end. Not by a long shot." Han felt Leia's fingers weave with his; he gave them a quick, loving squeeze. "I think there's a lot of work still ahead of us."

Several people nodded. The conversation moved past him. Gods! It was his fight now, too; a shot he hadn't seen coming until it hit its mark, leaving a wound that was too deep to ignore.

His eyes shifted to Leia, her face intense as she listened to the talk swirling around them. Then he looked down at their intertwined fingers.

He had everything he wanted.

He had everything he needed.


	15. Chapter 15

_I watched _The Empire Strikes Back _tonight, and remembered that I'd written this, so here it is._

**Take My Heart**

"**One session, total immersion, seven hours.** We will need to begin shortly, sir, in order to prevent any further tissue degradation. You were fortunate that this injury was primarily a cauterization." The two-onebee droid slid politely to one side, allowing its patient a few moments of privacy with his visitor.

Leia looked down at the bandaged stump where Luke Skywalker's hand used to be, and her stomach clenched. Fortunate isn't the term she would have used. Looking at his exhausted face, she brushed her fingers delicately across her friend's shoulder. This had ended up being one hells of a day.

The princess tried to suppress a shudder; she didn't succeed.

"I hate bacta," Luke said into the sterile silence.

"Everyone hates bacta," Leia agreed. "But it's just the one time, and not for very long. Then they can," she stumbled with the words, "finish with your hand," she concluded haltingly.

Luke nodded glumly, his eyes traveling to the damaged appendage.

"You won't even know you're under," the princess continued, doing her best to sound encouraging. "And I'll be there with you the whole time."

"Maybe you should get some rest," Luke suggested, scanning her face. He'd seen her shudder. The pain in his eyes shifted, changing to something more sympathetic. Leia looked away; the last thing she wanted was pity. She would face this loss the same way she'd faced all the rest of her losses; in her own way. Alone.

She turned at the sound of a muted rumble behind her. Leia hadn't forgotten that Chewbacca was there, exactly, it was more like she was still getting used to his continued presence. The Wookiee hadn't left her side since…

_Since Bespin. _

"See, Chewie agrees with me," Luke pointed out.

Leia's glance darted between the two pairs of blue eyes, leaving her feeling trapped.

"I'm fine!" she blurted out.

Chewbacca looked at her, his eyes dark, and woofed softly.

"I know that's what he said!" Leia managed to choke out the words—her throat was closing—"but I can take care of myself!"

Luke stared between the two, concern and confusion vying for precedence. He actually seemed relieved when the med-droid told him he needed to come for his treatment.

Leia hugged and kissed him as he was taken away; Chewie cuffed him gently on the shoulder. Then Luke was gone and they were alone.

Leia drew one shuddering breath. "Chewie," she said, looking far up into his face, "we need to talk."

####

**The Mon Calmari built their ships embracing the principle that comfort begat efficiency.** The small conference room that Leia and Chewie had discovered contained a sofa big enough to easily handle the Wookiee's large frame, plus a number of comfy chairs of varying dimensions. There was also a well-stocked autochef, including foods and beverages intended to please any number of species palates.

Neither occupant of the room was seated, however, and food was the farthest thing from either of their minds.

"I'm coming with you!" Leia's voice quavered. Whether it was from exhaustion, or cold fury, or some other emotion she wouldn't let herself feel, the princess had long since lost track. But she was not giving in…not on this.

Chewie towered over her, his hirsute arms crossed unyieldingly over his brawny chest. He didn't speak, but his answer was obvious. He was not giving in; and for the past quarter hour he'd been telling her so.

Leia had heard rational explanations, impassioned pleas, angry assaults, and a collection of Shyriiwook invective she wouldn't have thought the normally gentle Wookiee even knew, much less knew how to use. Chewie had moaned, snarled, barked, howled, and roared, all to no avail. Vehement headshakes, expansive arm gestures, and bared teeth had all gone for naught. Leia was going to search the galaxy for Han Solo; there was no one who could talk her out of it. Didn't Chewie understand?

How could she not search for Han? She loved him.

Her uncooperative brain refused to halt the memories. It insisted on replaying, over and over, those last few moments in the smoke and the steam. Their kiss, filled with desperate passion and longing. His face, uncertain and a little scared. His eyes never leaving hers….

Worse yet, were all the other images that flooded through her mind: a lopsided grin, a taunting smirk, a lover's gentle touch.

Leia covered her mouth with her hand, holding back the sob. She was a princess of Alderaan; she would not cry!

But she didn't object when Chewbacca gathered her gently in his arms, and pressed her against his warm body. His fur was soft, with a faint, musky scent that was surprisingly comforting. She tunneled her hands into it and buried her face against his midsection. She didn't fight him when he led her to the sofa and sat down with her. They remained that way, still and silent, for several long minutes.

When Leia finally pulled her head back, Chewie mewled softly at her.

"Thanks. I'm alright now," she sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

The Wookiee chuckled softly.

"I am," Leia insisted. "I'm as okay as I'm going to be." She drew a shaky breath and looked up into Chewie's kind face. "When are we leaving?" she asked him.

He was both gentle and firm when he told her she wasn't coming with him and Lando.

Leia's sigh was weary. How many time did she have to say this?

"I am not going to stay here while that kriffing bounty hunter has him!" Chewie's eyebrow's rose—and he almost smiled—at the princess's choice of adjective. "And," Leia continued vehemently, "I am not going to let Jabba the Hutt get his slimy hands on him." Her eyes shone brightly with angry tears.

Chewbacca shook his head in emphatic agreement. Neither was he, he warbled.

"Then explain it to me," the princess ordered. "Give me one, just one, reason why you keep telling me I'm not coming with you." She took deep breath as tears threatened again. "I am not going to stay here, like some fragile blossom, all safe and protected, while Han's life is at risk!"

Chewie smiled sadly, taking her face gently between his two large hands. It was for you he risked his life, was the rumbled explanation.

Leia's breath caught; a hard knot of pain wedged at the base of her throat. "I know that," she choked out.

The Wookiee's thumb brushed a tear from the corner of Leia's eye. He continued, his hoots and barks were soft, but they left little room for argument. What he, Han, had done, he had done for the princess, Chewbacca explained, his own eyes saddened at the thought of his loss. Han wanted her to be safe; he wanted her to be happy.

"How can I be happy while he's—" Leia couldn't finish her statement. She couldn't find a word to describe what Han might be going through. She shivered.

Chewie stroked the princess's head, much like Leia had seen Han do to the Wookiee. She understood the comfort he was trying to offer her. Chewbacca rumbled on, saying that Han knew how important the Rebellion was to Leia, and that he would want her to continue her job now. Especially now.

Leia nodded mutely as the events at Cloud City played through her mind yet again; a holovid horror loop that would not stop—Vader, stormtroopers, Vader.

So, Chewie growled decisively, he and Lando would track Boba Fett. As soon as they located him, however, he would send word to her, and to Luke, so that they could join him. But for now she needed to stay with the fleet. Did she understand?

"I understand," Leia replied, so softly it took Chewie's sensitive ears to hear her. Then she seemed to find her voice. "But you have to understand something, too," she continued. She swallowed down on the seemingly ever-present lump in her throat. "I think…that Han Solo is the best of me. I'll stay here, but remember that when you go, you're taking my heart with you."

With a howl that was part pain and part approbation, Chewie gathered Leia into a fierce hug that stole her breath. They clung to one another, sharing their pain. They stayed that way a long time, only separating when Leia could no longer breathe at all.

The Wookiee smiled, then, with an actual gleam in his blue eyes. With a thick chuckle, he reminded her that she was now included in the life-debt that he owed Han Solo, and that he was counting on her to stay safe while he was away.

"Now listen," Leia bristled. "Just because he told you to take care of me, doesn't mean I'm not perfectly able to take care of myself!"

Chewbacca howled good-naturedly; he understood that fact perfectly. No, he explained, it was because Leia was now Han's mate.

Leia blushed. "Wait a minute, Chewie, just because…" she began hurriedly, then stopped to collect her thoughts. "Just because we spent some time together," Chewie wriggled his eyebrows and barked out a laugh. Leia glared. "That doesn't mean we're mates, or mated, or whatever you want to call it!"

Still smiling, the Wookiee took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. He growled one simple question to her.

A myriad of emotions flooded through Leia—fear, longing, loneliness, and love—before she answered. "No, Chewie, you're right. I've never felt for anyone what I feel for Han, and I can't believe I ever will again," she said, as tears threatened again.

Chewbacca barked in satisfaction, once more taking Leia into the circle of a comforting embrace. He held her tightly until her sobs subsided. He growled a suggestion to her.

"No, Chewie, I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight," she said with a watery smile. "But I'd love to hear more about Han's life."

The two friends settled themselves on the sofa once more.

####

**Leia stood at Luke's side as Two-onebee made the final adjustments to his new, prosthetic hand. **She wasn't paying attention to the procedure, however. All her focus was on the _Millennium Falcon _as Chewie and Lando made their final preparations before they left to search for Han. Gods, but she wanted to be going with them! It made her ache to stay behind, but she understood why she had to wait. And she knew that Chewbacca understood her. The situation wasn't ideal, but, Leia realized, it was the best she could ask for. She listened to Lando, assuring her that they would find Han; that he would meet Luke at they're agreed upon rendezvous.

Then Chewbacca barked his farewell. He assured the princess that the thing with which she had entrusted him would be well cared for. Leia smiled, and Luke looked at her a little oddly, but she didn't care. Chewie understood, and that was all that mattered.

Leia went to the large viewport as the _Falcon _undocked from the cruiser and made its way through the other Rebel ships. Luke joined her, putting his arm around her as the freighter cleared the fleet and sped off on its journey. As the ship disappeared from view, Leia knew that it carried her heart with it.


	16. Chapter 16

_AN: About two weeks ago, there was a very nice Han Solo picture from Star Wars on Instagram. If you saw it, that is what inspired this particular Stray Thought. Thanks to StatsGrandma57 for reading through this and for your suggestions._

**Time and Memories**

**0009\. **For the last three weeks, two days, and fourteen standard hours, Leia had hated the night, had dreaded the thought of sleep. That's when the dreams came.

#

"_I knew there was more to you than money!" _

_Wild jubilation whirled through the hangar on Yavin 4 like a tempest. Leia stood at its vortex, her arms wrapped around the smuggler's strong, hard body, marveling at the sudden heat inside her as he returned the embrace. Her giddy thrill at the Rebel victory was mixed with a potent excitement of a completely different sort._

**0021**. Leia squinted at the display glowing at her from the bulkhead wall. The bright smile on her face faltered and died as the dream faded away. Muttering a blistering curse, she turned away from the chrono, pulling the sheet tight around her as she shut her eyes and tried to drift away.

#

"_You like me because I'm a scoundrel. There aren't enough scoundrels in your life."_

_The tiny electrical access bay on the Falcon was hot and cramped, with barely enough room for one person, let alone two. His arms went around her, and without any conscious thought, hers went around him. As his mouth drew closer, her face tipped up to meet it. He smelled of sweat and engine coolant. Her vision narrowed to scruffy whiskers, a scar, firm parted lips. Then it was only his mouth on hers, and the taste of his breath. His tongue probing gently at first, then more insistently, greedy and demanding, her own desire rising in reply._

**0058**. Raising a trembling hand to her lips, Leia stared at the chronometer in disbelief. Gods, she could still taste him on her tongue, feel his bristly chin against her cheeks. This had to stop; she didn't know how much more she could take. She balled her hands into fists and pulled the thin covering up to her lips, waiting for the trembling to stop and her breathing to even. When it did, she took several deep, steadying breaths of recycled ships' air, then resolutely closed her eyes and willed herself to rest.

#

"_Listen, Flyboy, if you think—"_

"_Leia, shut up!"_

_The slow trip to Bespin, in the close confines of the wounded freighter, had frayed their nerves to the breaking point. The argument had been going on for hours._

"_You don't tell me to shut up!" she yelled back. She tried to pull away as his hands reached out to cup her face._

"_Leia," was all he said as he tipped her head back and brought his mouth down to hers._

"_Oh, okay," she said in sudden understanding. Their mouths joined with bruising force, hungry and needy, tongues tangling as they tasted one another, taunted one another. She pressed her body against his, thrilling at the feel of his hardness pressing back. She tunneled her hands in his thick hair, pulling him even closer._

_He moaned, then pulled his head back._

"_Leia?" It was a request; it was a supplication._

_Her eyes glittered._

"_Shut up, Han!"_

"_Okay," he agreed. His mouth never leaving hers, he cupped his hands under her butt and lifted her up; she wrapped her legs around his hips as he carried her to his bunk, laying her down almost reverently._

_She untucked his shirt as he straddled her, and pulled at the fastening on his pants, sliding them down over hips already bucking with his need to be inside her._

"_Why are you wearing so many clothes?" he groaned, as he wrestled with her white snow fatigues and thermal undergarments._

"_It was cold. Next time I won't," she assured him as he pulled the offending garments up and away from her body. Her hands grabbed his firm posterior, dragging him closer, even as he tortured her breasts, kneading and suckling them._

"_Han! Now!" she begged, then gasped as he plunged deep inside, emptying his very soul into her._

**0117**. Sweat coated her skin, causing her thin, utilitarian sleep robe to cling uncomfortably to her stomach and breasts. Her breath came in quick gasps and she could feel that she was damp within, ready for…

"Aaaghh!" Leia wasn't sure if it was a scream or a moan. Whichever, it did very little to relieve the tension she felt—or the pain.

She sat up and leaned back against the cool, smooth bulkhead. In the dark her hand groped for the cup of water she'd set next to the bunk. She wasn't sure she could go on like this; she had to sleep, she had to forget. Her hand knocked into the cup. It fell on its side, spilling its contents onto the smooth surface of the bunkside shelf. Leia didn't care. As water dripped onto the floor, she pulled the sheet up over her face as she laid back down, using it to catch her tears.

#

_Steam and smoke permeated the cavernous space, filling it with an odd mechanical odor. The clanging and grinding noises from the carbon freeze apparatus drowned out the rhythmic whoosh of Vader's artificial breathing. But Leia could still hear it; she always heard it. From the day of Alderaan's destruction till now—the destruction of her heart and soul._

_Han's face was brave for her, just as hers was for him, but his hands were clenched, fearful and unsure, waiting for the moment…_

_In the end she couldn't watch. Leia buried her face in Chewie's fur, not looking back until it was done. Not until Han was entombed in carbonite. Her fingers dug into Chewbacca's arm; she couldn't breathe._

**0144**. The chronometer shone brightly as Leia took one gasping breath, then another. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers from where they clutched the sheets so tightly her knuckles were white. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. There were no tears this time; she hurt too much to cry. Just like before. Just like every other time she relived that moment. It had to stop. _She_ had to stop it. There was no way she could keep going on like this: dreaming—remembering. She'd promised Chewie, the night before he'd left with Lando to begin their search for Han, that she would take care of herself, and that she would continue to fight the Empire. She meant to keep that promise, but the way she was living now, she couldn't. If she just took the medication two-onebee had given her, it would all go away.

But, instead, Leia lay back down. She knew sleep wouldn't come, but at least she could clear her mind. She would try.

####

**0202**. Leia let out her breath in a frustrated huff. Whoever invented the chronometer had a nasty sense of humor. If there were no way of tracking the passage of time, she wouldn't know that it had been exactly eighteen standard minutes since the last time she had noted the time.

"Lights, one quarter," she ordered. Her small cabin came into view in a soft, twilight glow. The princess untangled herself from knotted sheets to dangle her feet over the edge of her bunk. Resignedly, she slid down to stand barefoot on the cool, smooth deckplating. She made use of the 'fresher, then retrieved a fresh cup of water. _At least it gives me something to do,_ _other than think, _she told herself. _Other than dream. Other than remember._

Maybe it was malice that had led to the very concept of marking time. If there were no way of tracking its passage, Leia wouldn't know that it had been three standard weeks, two days, and sixteen standard hours since… She froze, momentarily unwilling to finish the thought, unwilling to live it yet again.

_This is stupid _Leia informed her hesitant self. S_ince when have you hidden from anything? _She sipped from the mug in front of her on the small table where she sat, and squared her slim shoulders.

"It has been three standard weeks, two days, and sixteen hours," she began formally, "since Han Solo was frozen in carbonite like a test animal, and taken away to gods know where by a vicious Mandolorian bounty hunter." The princess drew one shuddering breath and wiped the tears off her pale cheeks.

"There, that's better," she said.

But it wasn't better, and she knew it. Leia had barely slept, or eaten, in the last—well the last three standard weeks, two days, and sixteen hours. It had gotten to the point where she could barely stand the sight of her quarters, all they brought her were hours of sleeplessness filled with memories.

Leia sipped more water and rubbed her hand over her tired and burning eyes. Across the table, the small bottle filled with sleep-aid capsules drew her attention. It was so tempting. Under their gentle pull, she would sleep, deeply and dreamlessly. Those memories wouldn't haunt her, at least for a few hours. She knew she couldn't continue on the way she had been. She reached out her hand to the bottle, open and grasping. Then she balled it into a fist and slammed it down on the table. The mug of water jumped.

If she took the little pink capsule, she wouldn't have to remember. But what if those memories were the only ones she would ever have? What if they were all that was left of Han?

"No!" The princess wasn't even aware she'd spoken aloud until Threepio's photoreceptors lit his face in one of the dim corners of her cabin.

"Mistress Leia? Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, Threepio," she responded.

"Are we under attack?" the droid asked nervously. "I'm sure I heard you cry out."

Leia smiled in spite of herself. Only Goldenrod would leap first to the direst of circumstances. Her heart stuttered once, twice, at the familiar nickname. She willed it back to normal rhythm, pleased when her errant organ obeyed her.

"I was only talking to myself," Leia explained. It was even the truth. "There's nothing for you to be worried about. You can shut down again."

"But I'm sure I heard—"

"You can shut down, Threepio," she repeated forcefully.

For a moment Leia thought the droid would argue with her. Finally he nodded his head in submission.

"Yes, Princess Leia." After a moment his photoreceptors went dark.

Leia snatched the small bottle of capsules off the table and marched determinedly into the 'fresher. Seconds later the capsules were gone in a swirl of chemical blue. If memories were all that she had of Han Solo, she was going to keep them—each and every one.


	17. Chapter 17

_Sometimes these things just happen. I really wanted that first cup of coffee this morning, and suddenly there was a Stray Thought!_

**A Decent Cup of Caf**

_On the origins of the friendship between Han Solo and Wedge Antilles_

Wedge Antilles believed that for all intents and purposes, he was a simple man. He didn't ask for much out of life. Certainly he wouldn't complain if Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader simply disappeared from the known universe. Nor would he mind if the Empire chose to immediately surrender to the Rebel Alliance, and he would be quite pleased if they released all of the worlds they had enslaved and helped form a new, free government. But Wedge wasn't delusional; he knew none of these things was likely to happen. So, he went for what he could actually have: a few good friends, a roof over his head, and a chance to pilot an X-wing in the fight against the forces of darkness and tyranny. The fact that he had access to cheap booze and frequent sabacc games didn't hurt either. But there was one thing in all of this that he truly wanted-and seemed unable to find—a decent cup of caf.

And really, was that too much to ask?

Wedge didn't think that it was. Growing up on a refueling platform that served all five of the Corellian worlds, he'd seen how his mother and father always had decent caf on hand for the pilots who spent so much of their lives in deep space. Those spacefarers had always appreciated it; and Wedge had learned to appreciate it as well. Which was why it was so kriffing hard to put up with the swill that the Rebel Alliance quartermasters provided the troops. Really, he wondered, didn't they understand how much higher morale would be, if they just had good caf?

Heaving a sigh against the unfairness of some things, Wedge found himself up early after a late night of poorly played sabacc, in desperate need of a pick-me-up. Too bad he wasn't going to find one. Nonetheless, he headed toward the base mess. He would make do.

"Hey! Antilles? Wedge?"

Wedge turned at the sound of the voice. Han Solo strode toward him, holding a cup in each hand. Wedge stopped and waited for the pilot to catch up. He noted that Han's shirt was already sticking sweatily to his chest and back, even at this relatively cool hour of the morning. He wasn't surprised, the air of Yavin 4 was thick and heavy, and Solo'd obviously walked here from the _Millennium_ _Falcon_.

"What can I do for you?" Wedge asked, as the other man joined him.

"Do you like caf?" Han extended one of the cups he held. "I brought this for Luke, but apparently the kid doesn't drink caf," he explained. "I thought maybe you'd like it."

Wedge's nose twitched; the scent of caf rose enticingly from the cups in Solo's hands. "Thanks," he said, taking the proffered cup. "This isn't from the mess, is it." It was a statement, not a question.

"Gods, no," Solo responded. "This is from the _Falcon_. It's not the greatest, but it's better than the stuff those guys serve," he continued.

Wedge refrained from pointing out that he was one of 'those guys.' He took a cautious sip from the cup, and nearly groaned. "This is real! It's not that synthetic stuff, nor made from bantha droppings." He closed his eyes and swallowed more of the hot, fragrant brew. "Gods!" Opening his eyes, he looked at the other man. "Where'd you find this?"

"I'll never tell," Han smirked crookedly. "I _am_ a smuggler, you know. I have to protect my sources."

A smuggler. Wedge felt his muscles tighten and the smile on his face freeze in place. Smugglers were one slippery step up from pirates, and Wedge Antilles hated pirates. He took another drink of the caf, hoping to hide his sudden discomfort.

"Hey, if you've got a problem, just say so." Han Solo's voice was unnaturally harsh.

Antilles looked at the other man. Solo's eyes were hard and angry, but there was something else hidden behind that look. If Wedge hadn't known better, he would have said those hazel eyes seemed vulnerable. _Cool down, Wedge,_ he chastised himself, _it's not like you've never been friends with a smuggler or two. _And really, he barely knew the man, how could he judge? Every one of them had their own story. Han had helped get Princess Leia off the Death Star, and had helped Luke blow the cursed thing up. Just as important, he was still here, three standard weeks after the event. He hadn't taken the money and run.

"Can I have my cup back?" Han reached out his free hand for the cup Wedge held.

"What? Sorry," Wedge said abstractedly. Then he looked Han straight in the eye. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I have a history," he explained. "Pirates." That sounded weak, even to him. "But that's no excuse to be rude; especially over such fine caf." He saluted Solo with the cup, and took another swallow. It was as decent a brew as he'd had since his parents died.

For the space of a heartbeat, Han said nothing. "We all have a history," he conceded finally. "And I'm not a pirate. As long as it isn't going to be a thing between us."

"No, there's no thing." Wedge smiled, feeling his tense muscles relax back to normalcy. "And if you find you have any extra of this," he held up the cup, "I wouldn't mind sharing a cup with you again." It was a peace offering—the best he could do under the circumstances.

"I could probably manage that," Han answered, accepting the offer. His eyes surveyed the wide corridor they stood in. More and more people were up, occasionally side-stepping the two men as they trundled by to their own destinations. "I guess I should get some breakfast," he said, almost resignedly.

Wedge looked over at him. "I don't suppose you have some aven eggs on that ship of yours? Or nerf steaks?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry, no aven eggs," Solo answered. Now a natural grin slanted across his face. "We do have nerf steaks on board, but they're Chewie's."

"I am not going to stand between a Wookiee and his meat," Wedge declared. "I suppose we have to go to the mess," he said sadly.

Han nodded.

They walked in companionable silence toward the mess. They were just at the entrance, when a small figure exited.

"Good morning, Princess Leia," Wedge said, as the woman passed them.

"Good morning, Wedge," she said. She paused for a moment, a pleasant smile on her face.

Wedge watched as she looked up into Han's vaguely insolent eyes.

"Captain Solo," the princess greeted him coolly.

"Your Worship," Han responded, with a mock nod of respect. Leia hurried on her way. Han's eyes followed her as she moved through the hangar toward the command center.

"Why do you call…? Wedge began. Then he stopped as he looked at Solo's face. There it was again, underneath the self-confidence, that fleeting glimpse of vulnerability. Antilles eyes narrowed as he watched Han watch the princess. He was still here after three weeks, Wedge thought again.

"What?" Solo asked, turning back to the other man.

"Nothing," Wedge said. "Let's get some breakfast."


	18. Chapter 18

_And in this one, I go back to the very beginning._

**Not Her Type**

Leia took a cautious sip from the chipped mug the Wookiee had placed in front of her. Much to her surprise the mug was clean and the caf was good. It was real, not the synthetic stuff one usually found aboard a ship—or on a secret Rebel base—and it had a rich mellow flavor that reminded her of breakfast at home. The princess gulped and pushed that thought far down into the depths of her heart. She didn't have time to deal with that now; there was a war to win.

The caf certainly wasn't what she'd expected from this battered looking freighter, but long years of experience had taught her never to judge anything, or any being, without first giving it—or them—due consideration. She needed to put that truism into practice now.

Consider the Wookiee, Chewbacca, she thought. He was huge and ferocious looking; Leia could readily believe that if he was truly angry, he wouldn't hesitate to tear off an arm or leg, maybe even a head. But it had been Chewie who had given her the caf, and asked her if she needed anything. He'd even pointed out where the 'fresher was, with an embarrassed look on his face. And he'd given her a gentle hug, along with a clumsy pat on the shoulder, when he saw the tears in her eyes. She'd been thinking about her parents, but it really didn't matter what the reason was. He'd been gentle and kind—two hairy meters of proof that looks could be deceiving.

He was certainly more personable than the _Millennium_ _Falcon's_ captain. Gods! That man would try the patience of a Jedi master. The princess didn't think she'd ever met a more stuck-up, unthinking, arrogant creature in her entire life. Han Solo was alternately rude, insulting, or smug. He obviously cared for nothing more than money, this poor excuse for a freighter, and his own precious hide. And he had the manners of a gundark. Some of the things he'd said to her, and the names he'd called her, went beyond impolite to the positively insulting._ Maybe you'd like it back in her cell? _and_ Your Worshipfulness? _ Just thinking about him made her furious.

Leia slammed the mug down on to the game table with a bit more force than she'd intended. Caf sloshed over the sides of the mug and across her hand before puddling on the holo-surface.

"Sith!" she swore as she jerked her hand up to her mouth. The kriffing caf was hot. She tilted her head back and looked up at the sound of a warble from Chewbacca. The princess wasn't sure what he was saying, her Shyriiwook was minimal, but the twitching of his nose and the crinkles around his blue eyes seemed to broadcast sympathetic amusement. Leia suspected the Wookiee had seen this reaction to his captain before.

Chewie handed her a well-worn rag with one hairy hand while he pointed at the brewer with the other. His eyebrows lifted as he awrooed a question.

"Thanks, Chewie, but I think I've had enough caf," Leia said, guessing at the Wookiee's intention.

Chewbacca nodded and moaned before he shambled back toward the ship's cockpit, leaving the princess alone with her thoughts.

Leia turned those thoughts to her other new acquaintance—Luke Skywalker. It felt as if she'd known the young man forever. Strange, that. The princess had always been reserved, even cautious, with new beings, but somehow she'd been completely at home with Luke from the moment he popped into her cell and announced that he'd come to rescue her. The farm boy from Tatooine was as open and honest as you could ask for. He would join the Rebellion, and there was no doubt to his motives. He believed in the cause, and would fight because it was the right thing to do. He wouldn't expect a reward, like other individuals she could think of. Naïve though Luke was, he was brave and true.

_Be fair, Leia,_ she admonished herself, _so is Han Solo, at least when he isn't acting like a scoundrel._ His actions on the Death Star had been far from self-serving, even if he would be the last one to admit it. It was obvious that he cared what happened to Luke, even though the two men had only known one another for a short period of time. And even with her, he'd seemed to care…

_Why was she thinking about him?_ He'd been nothing but a nuisance the entire time: firing that blaster of his at everything, and chasing after stormtroopers as if her were an army to himself. He'd very nearly ruined their escape with his egotistical bravado. But he'd shown real concern for Luke when he'd been pulled under the garbage by that creature. He'd shown sincere concern for her as well, as he'd helped her to the top of the heap. Leia's lips lifted at the corners as she thought about those large, strong hands on her hips. And the way his gunbelt rode low on one of the nicest butts she'd seen in a long time.

The princess jumped up so quickly at that thought that she knocked over the mug. Fortunately it was practically empty. A few quick swipes and the mess was cleared up. She bunched the rag up in her hand and wandered around the compartment, looking for a place to stow it. _Gods, Leia! Keep your mind focused. _There was a war to fight, this was no time to be thinking of anything else, _no matter how intriguing they might seem…._

"Well, your Worship," said a familiar, insolent voice. "I see you've made yourself at home." Han Solo grinned crookedly at her.

Leia was horrified to discover that her heart beat just a little faster at the sight of that smug smile. _It's just aggravation, she told herself. He's definitely not my type._

"I have to thank Chewbacca for his politeness," she retorted. "He's the one who made me welcome." The princess tilted her chin up and smiled haughtily. "It's good to know that one of you has some manners."

"I didn't think you cared what I did," was Solo's offhand reply.

"I certainly don't," the princess retorted, feeling that somehow she was coming out the worst in this conversation. "Is there something you wanted to say to me?" she continued frostily.

Han raised one eyebrow in mocking reply. "Just that we're coming out of hyperspace at your base," he explained, then turned to walk back to the cockpit. "I thought you'd want to know."

"Thank you," Leia said. She watched in grudging appreciation as the Corellian walked away from her. He did have a great ass.


	19. Chapter 19

_What can I say? I like symmetry._

**Not His Type**

"Do you think a princess and a guy like me…?"

"No!"

Han carefully hid his smile from his young friend. He knew he shouldn't bait the kid, but kriff, he was such an easy mark. That farm boy innocence was just too good not to take advantage of.

He flipped a few random switches on the command console, and rapped at a gauge with a knuckle. Flying through hyperspace didn't actually require any piloting, but he didn't want this rescue to look too easy. Normally he'd be back in the main compartment by now, relaxing with a caf—maybe even an ale if the trip was long enough. He might read, or watch a holovid, depending on his mood.

But not this trip, the main hold was too crowded this time, seeing as how that's where her Worshipfulness had decided to park herself. It amazed Han how one tiny woman seemed to fill the entire lounge.

Running his hand along the control yoke, Han risked a sidelong glance at his young companion. Luke was carefully studying the hyperdrive throttles and gauges. Apparently the workings of the Falcon were more interesting to the farm boy than the sharp-mouthed princess, at least for the moment; but it was obvious the kid was stuck on her.

Han had no idea why. He'd known plenty of women—a quick, proud grin slanted across his face at that thought—and not one of them had ever been as stubborn, or as bossy, as this Princess Leia Organa was, not even the crazy ones. He wondered if it was because she was a princess; she might be overly impressed with her own importance. No, she was too young for that; she didn't look too much older than Luke, even though she acted more mature. Being stuck-up was probably just another part of Leia's winning personality.

Luke was now inspecting the navicomputer. Han was pretty sure the kid had never seen anything like it before. As long as he didn't touch anything and accidentally knock them back into real space someplace they didn't want to be, the kid could look all he wanted. And if he did touch anything, Han would just send the boy back to sit with the princess.

Much to the pilot's surprise, the thought of Leia and Luke together bothered him—which he knew was just stupid on his part. Han was pretty sure they were almost the same age, and they suited each other perfectly. Her highness wanted someone to boss around, and Luke was obviously willing to do whatever it took to please her. They could entertain each other all the way to this secret base they were heading to, now that she'd finally told him where it was. He snarled soundlessly.

"What?" Luke turned and looked curiously at Han, who just then realized that his silent curse at the princess hadn't been completely silent.

"Nothing, kid. I'm just thinking," though growling might be a more accurate term.

Well, who could blame him? He'd had to pry the coordinates of the base out of the stubborn woman, threatening to drop out of hyperspace and maroon her before she finally told him. She'd actually suggested that she program them in herself, so he wouldn't know what they were. Just who did she think she was? This was his ship, nobody programmed anything but Chewie or him. Besides, he didn't care a Wookiee's nose hair where the base was, as long as he got his reward for delivering Leia safe and unscathed. It wasn't like he was going to tell anybody where it was; he couldn't have cared less.

But she cared. Apparently she'd withstood some sort of torture, above and beyond the interrogator droid, without giving up its location. Han grimaced. Just surviving that droid must have taken enormous strength, and she'd done that…and more.

Leia Organa was one strong woman. Han liked that about her; he had to admit it. She was smart too, quick thinking in a fight, and not afraid to put herself in the line of fire. Better yet, it was all wrapped up in a pretty little package. Han smiled to himself. All of his other women had been the tall, willowy kind. But Leia, even though she was tiny, she had curves in all the right places.

_Kriff! Sith! KRIFF! What in the nine Corellian hells was wrong with him? _It was sheer force of will that kept Han seated and silent. Every fiber of his being wanted to get up, pace, scream, something. Han Solo did not—would not—become involved with another woman, especially one who was caught up to the top of her pretty little head in this stupid, futile rebellion. He'd seen what happened to Bria, and he would never forget how she'd screwed him over in the name of the Alliance. Oh, no, he wasn't going to make that mistake again.

Besides, bossy, loud-mouthed little princesses just weren't his type.

The bulkhead door slid open and Chewbacca ducked into the cockpit. The Wookiee nodded politely to Luke before turning to his friend. He whuffled a quick question.

"Look out, kid," Han instructed as he moved to the navicomputer, punching a series of keys.

"I could have done that, if you'd just asked me to," Luke objected.

"No one touches this but Chewie and me," Han reminded him. Luke rolled his eyes, but stepped out of the Corellian's way.

"We're almost there," Han said, answering the Wookiee's inquiry. "We'll be back in real space in about 30 standard minutes.

"I'll go tell Leia," Luke said eagerly, moving toward the door.

"I'll go," Han said, much quicker than was necessary. "I've got…I need to check something at the engineering station," he added awkwardly.

The younger man's face fell with disappointment.

"Chewie, why don't you show Luke how—" the Corellian paused, thinking quickly. "Show him the right way to come out of hyperspace." _Sith, Solo, that was lame. _Han turned his back to both of them as he opened the door.

The Wookiee's furry eyebrows soared upward as he watched his friend move rapidly out of the cockpit. With a thick chuckle, he turned to the farm boy. Luke looked curiously between the two smugglers before turning back to the console. The door slid shut behind Han.

_I must be out of my mind, _Han thought as he headed down the curved access tunnel to the ship's main hold. _I don't even like her High and Mightiness. Why didn't I just let the kid go and tell her we're coming out of lightspeed?_

But as he stood in the entrance to the hold, Han knew why. Or at least he thought he did. He watched, unobserved, as the princess moved around the lounge, looking for something. She certainly was a pretty little package; there was no denying it, and Han was always up for something new.

More surprising to the Corellian, though, was the realization that Leia Organa looked like she belonged here. Or maybe that Han wanted her to look like she belonged here. That was a new and rather unsettling thought. But maybe, if there was time, he'd follow up on that. At least until he got his reward.


	20. Chapter 20

_A few months ago I wrote as story called _The Proposal, _which was supposed to be a Stray Thought, but it got too long. At the time, someone suggested that Luke should have been involved, so I wrote this story. And it cooperated by staying short enough to be a Stray Thought._

**Choices**

"G'night, Lando!" Wedge called out as he moved down the _Millennium_ _Falcon's_ boarding ramp with the exaggerated care of one who is truly inebriated.

"Good night, Wedge. See you in the morning!" Lando watched Wedge and Hobbie move unsteadily through the docking bay toward the exit. "Hey," he called after them. "Are you guys going to make it back to your quarters without killing yourselves?"

"No problems! We can find our way—we're pilots!" Hobbie answered, flashing the OK sign back at the gambler as he fumbled open the door that led into the docking ring. He and Wedge teetered out.

Calrissian laughed. "Well, that's the last of them," he declared as he walked back into the _Falcon's_ main hold. "Do you think they'll actually make it to the ceremony?"

"They'll be there," Luke assured him. "I know they don't want to miss it."

"I know they don't want to miss the reception." Lando settled himself on the bench by the holotable and stretched out his legs. "I suppose I should call it a night myself," he said.

Chewie snarled irritably from inside the ship's small galley, where he was feeding bottles into the recycler.

"Yeah, I know there's still a mess to clean up, but I've got to make sure I look good for tomorrow." Lando looked the Wookiee up and down. "All you've got to do is wash, dry and brush," he pointed out. "I have to dress."

This time Chewie's snarl showed a large number of sharp teeth.

Lando held up both hands in defense. "Fine, I'll help you clean up; but if I'm not looking my best tomorrow, you get to deal with the groom." His brow furrowed as he looked around the hold. "Where is Han, anyway?" he asked. "I haven't seen him for a while. He hasn't done a runner, has he?"

"Of course he hasn't; don't be ridiculous!" Luke exclaimed irritably as he handed a batch of empty ale bottles to Chewie.

The Wookiee warbled out an explanation as he fed the bottles into the recycler.

"Well, I guess I'm not surprised he wants a few minutes alone. Most grooms get a case of nerves before the wedding—and those weddings don't have a thousand guests." Lando paused thoughtfully. "It's just that Han has wanted this for so long. And I've never seen Han scared of anything before now. I mean, I saw him draw on Darth Vader…" He let that observation die midsentence as he saw the look in Chewie's eyes. Lando's betrayal of them on Bespin, and its painful consequences, still rankled with the Wookiee.

"Where'd he go?" Lando asked instead.

Chewie answered with a laughing bark.

"Of course he's in the cockpit! It was a stupid question." Lando dumped a stack of plates into the recycler. "Maybe I'll go check up on him."

"No, I'll go," Luke volunteered.

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Trying to get out of KP?" he asked.

"No. I don't mind helping clean up," the younger man explained. "It's just that I haven't had much time to talk to him recently; I've been so focused on the Jedi records I brought back from Dathomir." He smiled, and suddenly he looked a lot less like a Jedi master, and a lot more like Han's best friend. "Besides, he's marrying my sister!"

Lando conceded defeat with a graceful wave of his hand as Skywalker headed down the access tube toward the cockpit and his soon-to-be brother-in-law.

####

**Han sat in his usual place, his eyes focused out the front canopy**. His gaze was fixed on Coruscant's busy skies, visible past the magnetic containment field; his hands resting on the control yoke. He looked very much like he'd rather be flying than sitting in the docking bay.

"You okay?" Luke asked as he stepped into the cockpit.

"Yeah," Han answered shortly. He didn't turn at the sound of Luke's voice.

"Everyone else is gone now," the younger man informed him.

"Good! There were too many people on my ship!"

Luke smiled as he seated himself in the copilot's seat. That was always Han's response when he was feeling stressed.

"Do you want to be alone?" Luke asked him.

"What?" Han turned to face his friend. "Nah. I'm glad for your company, kid." With a heavy sigh, he turned back toward the mag field. "Kid, you ever wonder how we got here?"

"Where? Coruscant?" Luke sounded a little befuddled. "We beat the Imperials," he answered ingenuously.

"No," Han said sharply. "Here. You, me, Leia." He ran his hand across his mouth. "I'm getting married tomorrow morning. To Leia. To a princess." He slanted a smile in Luke's direction. "To your sister. How did _that_ ever happen?"

"Well," Luke began, then stopped. He really didn't know what else to say.

"I've made a whole bunch of bad decisions in my life," Han continued, the smile gone. "None of them should have led me here."

"Why do you say that?" Luke asked him.

"I don't deserve it! I don't deserve any of it!" Han looked back out the canopy; his hands clenched on the yoke so tightly his knuckles were white. "I don't deserve Leia," he said softly.

Luke looked his friend over carefully. Apparently Han's pre-wedding jitters had spawned some serious self-doubt. Han always seemed so self-assured; it was a little disconcerting to see the man so uncertain. For a brief moment, he wondered if he ought to comm Leia, she understood the Corellian better than anyone. No, Luke decided, she had to be busy enough tonight, and maybe a little jittery herself. The Jedi smiled—Han was his best friend—it was Luke's place to be there for him.

Only, how did he begin?

"So, why you aren't good enough to marry Leia?" Luke quietly asked the Corellian.

He was pleased when Han leaned forward with a snarled objection. The young Jedi had always assumed that Han Solo was constitutionally incapable of most common forms of humility; it was good to see that he was correct in his assumption, as far as it went.

Luke held up his finger in front of his friend's face, as Han had done to him, probably hundreds of times. "She's my sister, as you pointed out, so I think I have a responsibility to hear your reasons," he explained logically.

Han stared at his friend, and at the finger, for several long heartbeats, before he sank back into the pilot's seat and signaled surrender with a shrug.

"You know when I agreed to take you and old man Kenobi on as passengers, it wasn't out of the goodness of my heart," he began. "I needed the money. Bad. I'd dumped a load of Jabba's spice, and he put a bounty on my head. "

Luke nodded, curious as to why Han was bringing up ancient history.

"After you guys left the cantina, one of Jabba's stooges, a Rodian called Greedo, came and tried to collect." Han looked his friend straight in the eye. "I blasted him."

Luke hadn't heard this before, but he wasn't surprised. "It was self-defense," he pointed out. "If he was going to shoot you…"

"I didn't wait to find out. I shot him before he had the chance." There was the faintest hint of a smile on Han's lips, before his face sobered again. "I didn't even feel bad," he added.

It had probably still been self-defense, Luke thought—technically—even if Han had jumped the gun. The younger man shifted in Chewie's oversize seat; he always felt like a child when he sat in it. Momentarily distracted, he found himself wondering how it made his even smaller sister feel when she sat here. He could feel her familiar presence—he could always feel her—but her essence now permeated the _Millennium_ _Falcon_, right along with Han and Chewie's. Luke stretched out his senses, tasting his sister's emotions. Inside the Falcon, outside the minor irritations Han could—and did—raise in almost everyone, all Luke could feel of his sister was that she felt safe here. And loved—there was so much love.

"So, you see what I mean, kid?" Han's face expressed a sad acceptance of what he figured was Luke's disapproval of something that had happened long ago. "And I've done lots of other things that are just as bad, maybe worse."

Luke brought his focus back to the present. "Why did you come back at Yavin?"

"Huh?" Han asked, his face confused.

"You had your money; you were leaving to pay back Jabba. Why did you come back?"

Han smiled a little sheepishly. "Technically, I never left. We just kind of hung around and listened to what was going on."

"So, why didn't you leave?" Luke pressed his point. "It had to be more than idle curiosity that made you hang around."

"It was such a stupid plan," Han expostulated. "I just wanted to make sure you came through okay," He flashed his crooked grin, looking more himself. "You were a friend, then, like you are now."

Luke smiled broadly. "That's good to know." He let the grin fade. "And why did you stay after? You kept saying you were going to leave, but you never did."

Han turned away, back toward the mag field. "You know why," he mumbled.

Now the Jedi struggled to keep from laughing. Even the night before his wedding, Han still had a hard time admitting just how long he'd been in love with Leia.

"Han?" he prodded gently.

"Because of Leia!" Han practically shouted, looking back at his friend. "Are you happy now?"

"Yes," Luke confirmed with a laugh.

"So what's with all the questions?"

"Han, people change. You've changed," Luke pointed out.

Han dismissed the concept with a negligent wave of his hand.

"I've changed, too," the younger man continued. "If you'd have told me, that day in the cantina, that I would end up being a Jedi master, I never would have believed it."

"Neither would I, kid," Han added.

"Thanks," Luke's answering smile was ironic. "But I became the person I was meant to be." Luke locked eyes with his friend. "Just the way you became the person you were meant to be." He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "The past is past. Leia knows who you were, and it doesn't matter." Now he felt that his smile was tinged with envy, very unbecoming for a Jedi. "Frankly," he continued, "I don't think Leia would mind if you hadn't changed…she loves you that much."

There was a long moment of silence as Han seemed to think about this. Then, his crooked grin lit up his face—and the entire cockpit. "I wonder where she is," he said.

Luke shut his eyes and reached out to touch his sister—feather light, so that he didn't disturb her.

"She's in the Alderaan Memorial Garden," he said as he opened his eyes again.

Han levered himself out of his seat. "I'm just going to go and tell her I love her; one more time."

Luke only smiled as he watched his best friend leave. Sometimes he was still amazed at how much Han and Leia loved one another. He felt the tiniest bit of loneliness in his heart, which he quickly banished. Someday, he hoped that he, too, would feel the kind of love that Han and Leia shared.


	21. Chapter 21

**Honeymoon Musings**

This had to be the oddest honeymoon ever, Leia thought with a wry smile. Not that she was an expert at honeymoons. The princess knew this was the first, and only honeymoon she would ever take. However, how many honeymoons included a Wookiee companion, not to mention a courier mission for the New Republic's Provisional Council?

On the other hand, how many honeymoons included stopping at some of the most beautiful places in the galaxy, not to mention having the sexiest man in the known galaxy as the groom? Leia would gladly endure Wookiees—Chewie _was_ very respectful of their privacy—and secret missions, as long as she could be with Han Solo.

Leia's pitten-like stretch was carefully contained, so as not to disturb her bedmate. The bunk in the captain's berth on the _Millennium_ _Falcon _was small, and she supposed that someone not completely besotted might find it cramped and uncomfortable. The princess had never found it so, because this was where she'd found Han Solo. Not met him; that had been in the midst of a fire fight—the first of way too many—but it was the place where she had found the other half of herself; the best of herself.

She laughed soundlessly, just a puff of air, when she became aware of the broad grin spread across her face. Leia hadn't believed it was possible to smile as often as she did now that she was Han's wife. She turned her body carefully under the protective arm draped across her to contemplate her husband. He was gorgeous. There was no other word for it, she thought, even after a night of enthusiastic and very creative lovemaking. Even right now with his thick, dark hair matted, and his lips parted to emit a breathy snore, he was no less attractive than any other time in Leia's mind. She ran a caressing finger through his hair and down his cheek dropping down to his collarbone and through the feathery hair on his magnificent chest. She'd never anything more than she loved more than this man. Her hand paused in its travels along her husband's naked flesh. _I'd better not go any further south,_ she thought, _I might wake him._ After last night, he probably needed the sleep. With a satiated smile, Leia tenderly kissed the corner of Han's mouth-eliciting the lopsided grin that always made her pulse pound-but he didn't waken.

Leia was just ready to doze off herself, when she realized a trip to the 'fresher was in order. With an exasperated sigh at the cruelties of nature, she dropped her legs over the side of the bunk and slipped to the floor. Immediately, goose-bumps sprouted on her naked flesh in the cool, recycled ship's air. In the dim cabin light, she reached down and groped for an appropriate garment from the messy tangle of clothing on the floor. They'd been in kind of a hurry to get out of them last night. Slipping her arms into Han's discarded shirt, she padded barefoot across the small space to make use of the convenience.

With nature's call answered, Leia surveyed the mess on the floor. Marriage wasn't all fun and games she thought with a rueful half-smile, as she excavated through the assorted discarded clothing. Undergarments went directly into the autovalet. She folded up her slinky Zoosha pants and tunic and placed them on the cabin's one tiny cabinet. She grabbed Han's trousers and folded them over the berth's single chair. She grabbed his boots and her shoes and shoved them in the general vicinity of the clothes locker.

All that was left was Han's gunbelt. Leia scooped it up off the floor, intending to hang it off the back of the chair. The bantha-hide leather was soft and worn from years of use; it felt both cool and heavy in her hands. Leia thought about all the times she had seen this particular item of Han's wardrobe. It had been a constant from the day of her rescue on the Death Star to their wedding day. The only time he hadn't been wearing it was the day he'd been frozen in carbonite. The princess gave an involuntary shudder at the memory; that awful, long ago day was one she was afraid she could never forget.

Leia dropped down onto the chair as she rubbed her thumbs over the smooth leather and traced her finger over the heavy buckle. How many times had she seen this? How many times had she watched as it rode low on his hips, twitching and shifting with the movement of his pelvis and that magnificently shaped ass. Her heart beat a little faster and her breath came a little faster, and there was that damnable grin curling her mouth upward…

"Your Worship," came a lazy baritone drawl from the bunk. "I didn't know you were into the kinky stuff. You should have told me sooner."

Leia lept to her feet and dropped the belt over the chair back. She could feel a fiery blush spread across her cheeks.

"Listen, Flyboy," she began sternly. "I was just picking up the mess." She looked at the smirking grin on her husband's face and hurried on. "And don't worry, if there's something I want from you, I'll make sure you know…" The thought petered out as she grinned a little—that hadn't come out quite the way she's wanted it to.

Han chuckled softly; Leia smacked him smartly on the back of his head. His attempt to look wounded was ruined by another chuckle. Leia hopped up next to him and smiled, almost shyly, which she realized was kind of ridiculous after the night they'd spent together.

"I was just thinking about how many times I've watched this thing," she said, pointing to the gunbelt. "What can I say? I like to watch your ass…and your front." She felt the blush begin again.

"Hey, sweetheart," Han reached his arm over her shoulders and squeezed affectionately. "I couldn't begin to count the number of times I've watched your behind. And I've enjoyed the view every time." His smile flashed from tender to seductive. "I wouldn't mind inspecting it up close again," he told her. His hand slid down her side to pinch the portion of her anatomy under discussion. "If you're up for it."

Leia shoved at Han's shoulder, pushing him back down to the bed. "I think the question is are you up for it?" She pulled off the shirt she was wearing and Han plucked it from her hand, tossing it to the floor.

"You get to pick it up this time," she said before locking her mouth onto his.


	22. Chapter 22

_This one is early on again._

**Alderaan Lullaby**

The stormtroopers' booted footsteps rang hollowly on the grated walkway in Detention Center AA-23. No Darth Vader to join her escort this time, she noted numbly. There was no need; he'd done his job, and extracted what he believed was the pertinent information from her. Now all that was left was for her captors to do was to hide away Princess Leia Organa, survivor of the late planet of Alderaan, until she could be safely and quietly executed.

The lead stormtrooper keyed in a code and the door slid open.

"In," he ordered, pointing to the interior of the small, stark cell, as if she couldn't figure it out for herself.

Leia nodded in compliance, and stepped inside. The door slid shut with the ring of finality, sealing her off from the rest of the universe. She couldn't hear their footsteps as the squad marched away. She could hear nothing at all but the steady beating of her own heart. At this moment, she hated the very sound of it.

Tarkin and Vader thought they'd won—maybe they had—Leia just wasn't sure yet. The information she'd given them about the location of the Rebel base had been a lie—or at least too old of a truth to matter—but the lie she'd been dealt in return had been a blow she was sure she could never recover from. With one shot they'd destroyed her entire life. It was a good thing she'd be dead in a few hours, she thought.

She took the few short steps necessary to cross the cell, and seated herself on its one hard bench, clasping her hands in her lap and crossing her feet at the ankles like a good princess should. An echo of a smile lifted the corners of Leia's mouth, and she laughed silently—just a puff of air. If all the etiquette and deportment instructors who had ever despaired of convincing headstrong young Leia Organa to behave with proper decorum could see her now, they'd be so pleased.

The smile disappeared as fast as it had arrived, and was replaced by a shiver, which rapidly grew to a shudder. Soon, violent tremors were quaking through Leia's body. It was gone—all of it. And they were gone, too. Everyone and everything she'd ever loved, lost in a deadly green streak of light, reduced to rubble, stardust, and vapor. Tears streamed down her face while great gulps of misery wracked her tiny frame. The noise of Leia's sobs filled the hushed, stark, cell with the cries of grieving for the billions of graves now filling the void of space.

Leia had no idea how long her personal storm of mourning lasted. When the worst of it subsided, the princess was so exhausted she could barely sit up. Weakly, she slid backwards to lean against the wall, its coolness a balm for her tired, overheated body. She shut her eyes and took several gasping, shaking breaths before her overtaxed system finally calmed.

Faces of the dead appeared before her closed eyes, a parade of the lost. Her parents, who had been waiting for her return, her aunts, the palace servants, Winter, the scattering of pittens, Carlist Rieekan. Maybe Winter and Carlist had been off planet, she thought hopefully—desperately. Well, she'd never know now, would she? Tarkin wouldn't let her live to find out.

Finally succumbing to enervation, Leia lay down on the hard bench, which also served as the cell's bunk. _Just for a minute, _she told herself. The smooth surface felt good against her face. Letting her eyes remain closed, Leia's breathing slowed; the tears dried on her face.

The princess dreamed of Alderaan. Leia stood on the terrace of the palace—her home—and looked out over the lake. Birds soared and dove; a fresh breeze tossed the lake into foamy waves. Beyond, she could see the vast grasslands, waving in the wind with a blue-green shimmer. The scene caused her indescribable pain, and unexpected, inexplicable comfort. Leia could hear her mother's voice behind her as the princess reached down to catch the pitten that was scampering by.

"Leia, you are not just any young woman," Queen Breha Organa informed her daughter. Leia had heard the statement innumerable times before, usually when she'd rebelled against some stricture that came with princesshood. She smiled rather sourly as she stroked the pitten in her arms.

"You are a daughter of the royal house of Alderaan," her mother continued, in a voice that was both a firm reminder and soft encouragement. "As such, you represent not only your ancient lineage, but the entire people of Alderaan. Because of that responsibility, your behavior must always be exceptional." Leia met her mother's eyes now, they were both emphatic and a little sympathetic. After all, Breha had needed to learn these things, too, when she was a girl.

"You will need to stand a little taller…"

Leia snickered at that, she couldn't help it. Her mother fixed her with a cool, stern stare.

"You will need to stand a little taller," Breha repeated, "and be a little stronger than other people. But I know you can do it." Her mother's voice softened and a tender smile crossed her features as she caressed her daughter's cheek. "Leia, I know this because you are a strong and exceptional person."

The young princess's heart swelled with her mother's love.

Leia's eyes reluctantly opened to the sight of her dark, oppressive prison. Absently, she ran her hand over her cheek, imagining her mother's touch. The door to the cell slid open, revealing a lone stormtrooper.

So, the time for her execution had arrived. Soon, now, she'd be with her loved ones—and her people—again. She was looking forward to it; life held nothing for her now. But before then, she had one more duty to perform as the last representative of the royal house of Alderaan. She would not go meek and cringing to her death; she owed her people one last display of their cumulative courage. She raised herself up on one elbow, and appraised her guard from head to toe. One eyebrow rose imperiously.

"Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?"


	23. Chapter 23

**No Reward Is Worth This**

_Musings on a Rescued Princess_

Han Solo hit 'enter.' With only the briefest hesitation, the _Millennium_ _Falcon's_ central processor obliged her captain and began the requested diagnostic scan. Heaving a galaxy-weary sigh, the Corellian leaned back into his seat in the ship's cockpit, rubbed the back of his neck, and regarded the mottled mosaic of hyperspace.

_There were too kriffing many people on his ship._

The muted sounds of voices floated up to the cockpit from the aft part of the ship; Han shot a quick look over his shoulder down the access tube, making sure no one was coming. Chewie was in the lounge, entertaining their passengers. And a good thing he was too, Han thought; the Wookiee had infinitely more patience with this sort of thing than he did. At this point, Han was afraid that one more snippy comment from her Worship, or one more whine from that gold-colored droid, would drive him to blast something. Himself, maybe?

Tapping a key, Han saw the diagnostic was ten percent complete; the hyperdrive engines were operating at 83.27%. Good to know, he thought. Then he smiled sourly. It would have been better if he'd checked on that before they'd engaged the drive, but he'd been a little busy then—blasting TIE fighters off their tail.

Bounty hunters, farm boys, Jedi knights, Imperial stormtroopers, and overbearing princesses had not been part of his plan for the day when he got up this morning. Of course, neither had dumping Jabba's load of spice been part of his master plan three days ago. Han shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. How had everything gotten so complicated, he wondered. It's just a couple of passengers, Chewie had told him, back in the cantina, and an easy trip to Alderaan. They would make some quick money and pay Jabba back.

Han opened his eyes to stare at the patterns of shifting light outside the cockpit. It would have been nice if it had worked that way, he thought.

An indicator light on the main control panel began to blink red. Leaning forward, the pilot tapped another couple of keys, and flipped a single toggle. The port side sensor array had taken a hit during the fight with the TIEs, he noted, and was working at only 22% accuracy. He pressed his lips together; that was going to take some credits to repair. Another flip of the toggle and the blinking stopped. The diagnostic was now 27% complete. Han could hardly wait to see what else had been damaged. He wondered if he could bill the Rebel Alliance for the repairs. Or the Emperor?

17,000 would be a nice start, if he and Chewie ever actually saw it. Han wasn't so sure they would. The reward from the grateful planet of Alderaan was out, of course, since there was no longer a planet Alderaan. And the way her High and Mightiness talked, they might not live long enough to see the promised reward from the Rebels, since they were likely to be attacked by more Imperial fighters at any time. _No, _Han assured himself,_ there was no way the Empire was tracking them_. They'd drop off their hold full of passengers, get their reward, and blast out of there in no time. Then the most pessimistic princess in the known universe could go back to fighting her rebellion—which she and her Rebel friends weren't going to win anyway.

_Talk about pessimistic, Solo!_

No, he was just being realistic—there was no way the puny little Alliance was going to take down the Empire. Anyway, it didn't matter to him if they did or didn't; one tax collector was pretty much the same as the next.

52% complete. Han looked at the growing list of damaged and destroyed components and grimaced. She called it an easy escape, did she? She had no idea what she was talking about. Well, the Alliance had better cough up more than 17,000, he decided. The number of repairs the Falcon needed was going to take a big bite out of that reward. The princess could call him a mercenary if she wanted, but he was a business man. How did Princess Leia Organa think he kept his ship flying? It was going to take more than his good looks and ingratiating smile this time around. It was going to take credits, lots of credits.

Han shot a quick look over his shoulder, confirming he was still alone. Luke was sure smitten with the princess, he thought. A smile slanted across his face. He shouldn't have teased the kid like he had earlier, but Luke had left himself wide open. Besides, he thought, there _was_ something intriguing about Leia Organa.

The princess was a pretty little thing, the Corellian had to concede. He wasn't normally attracted to the tiny, young-looking types, but he might have to make an exception in this case. Her curves were anything but childlike, and her eyes were sharp and smart. And boy could she shoot when she had to. Han knew she had to be pretty young, probably no older than the kid, Luke, but she sure didn't have that straight off the farm naiveté that the kid did. She had spirit that just wouldn't quit, even though it was obvious she'd seen some pretty bad stuff in her life.

_Yeah, like the destruction of her home world. _That had to have been rough; he should probably cut her some slack, Han thought. But that mouth of hers; where did she come off telling him where he should go and what he should do? Nobody told Han Solo what to do but Han Solo. Period.

So, why was it he found himself inexplicably drawn to the stubborn, pushy princess? Han absently scratched at his chin as he considered this disturbing development.

A chirrup from the control board announcing that the diagnostic scan was complete interrupted his musings. Han punched up the final report and bit back a groan. He'd known that the dogfight with the Imp fighters was gonna hurt, and it had—big time. The amount of damage was enough to depress a Wookiee. But at least the old girl was still spaceworthy. That was good—it meant they could leave as soon as they dropped off her Worshipfulness and the kid, and collected their hopefully augmented reward. Then he'd never have to set eyes on Leia Organa again.

The tones that announced they were ready to drop out of lightspeed at their destination rang through the ship. Han shut them down with a quick slap of his hand. Obviously it wasn't quick enough; the kid and the princess came trailing into the cockpit after Chewie. The Wookiee dropped into his seat, while the two passengers hovered behind them. At least the droids weren't up here, too.

Han pulled back on the drive levers, and bright streaks filled the cockpit windows before the stars took shape.

"We're about to arrive at your base, your Worship," Han announced. The bloated orange globe of the planet Yavin grew steadily in front of them. "Any secret passwords I need to use?" he asked her.

Leia acknowledged the taunt with one raised eyebrow. "You better let me use your comm," she told the pilot.

"What for?" he asked.

"So they know that we're friendly, of course." She turned her face away from the cockpit view screen to look at Han. "I don't want them to shoot this miserable bucket of bolts down until we can offload Artoo." She smiled archly at him. "After that, though, it might be considered a mercy killing."

Han felt his blood pressure rise; there she was with that mouth of hers again. "Now listen, your Holiness," he sputtered angrily.

But Leia wasn't listening. Chewie had given her his headset and the princess was talking to whoever was in charge of shooting down strange ships.

"We're cleared to land," she informed him when she finished. "Just follow the signal beacons."

"I know how to land a ship, sweetheart," Han snapped, as he focused on the small moon beyond the gas giant.

The princess graced him with another raised eyebrow before she turned back to look out of the cockpit at the rapidly approaching jungle.

_No reward was worth this!_ Han thought again—for what felt like the hundredth time.

The Corellian watched the princess out of the corner of his eye as he brought the Falcon down to land in a clearing a short distance away from what looked to be an ancient temple of some sort. He had to admit it looked like a pretty good spot for a secret base.

Leia was completely in control here, he thought—cool, collected, and in charge. She was the first down the ramp as it lowered, greeting the soldier waiting there with kind of a regal warmth.

That should have irritated the hells out of Han Solo; instead he found it kind of attractive. _Hells! What's wrong with you, Solo? _Something in that garbage masher must have hit him in the head, that was the only explanation. Then he caught sight of the princess, looking at him when she thought no one could see. And her look was…well, it wasn't icy. She liked him, he could tell.

If he had to wait here for his reward, maybe he could find out if it was possible for a princess and a guy like him…

A slow smile, carefully hidden, lifted the corner of Han's mouth.


	24. Chapter 24

_Because Leia didn't just sit around for those six months between _ESB _and _ROTJ...

**Flying Solo**

Leia glared at the chrono built into the comm unit in the bulkhead, as if by sheer force of will she could make it carry out its task at double time. The glowing blue numerals shown implacably back at her; obviously no icy royal stare could intimidate the time piece. The princess rubbed her tired eyes. _That kriffing time couldn't be right! _But she knew that it was. Every single part of Mon Calmari shipbuilding was designed for accuracy and dependability, and never more so than on Admiral Ackbar's flagship, _Home One. _

Still not believing the time, Leia reached over and rapped her knuckle sharply on the chronometer, hoping she could jar loose whichever recalcitrant part had frozen within its workings. Three years of traveling on the temperamental _Millennium_ _Falcon _had taught her that sometimes all a malfunctioning piece of equipment needed was a good whack alongside its figurative head in order to make it work properly. She jerked her hand back from the timepiece as if it had been burnt, and blinked furiously at the hot tears in her eyes. She couldn't think about _Millennium_ _Falcon_ right now, or its pilot—trapped in carbonite and stolen away by that bounty hunter to gods knew where. Instead, she did her best to ignore the hole his absence left in her heart.

The princess jumped up to pace her small berth—five quick steps across and back was all it took. Unfortunately, this exercise did little to relieve the nervous energy bottled up inside her. She knew that the coming day would be easier if she could just have slept a little longer, but sleep was currently an elusive commodity. It was fortunate she could subsist on so little, Leia thought sourly, even while she wished she could find more to do during those lonely, sleepless hours. She was pleased that the nightmares of Bespin—smoke and steam and Vader—had subsided, mostly; but waking up to an unnamed, undefined fear, provided its own form of misery.

Forcing her mind back to matters at hand, Leia looked down at the small, packed duffel sitting just inside the doorway to her quarters. Much to her horror, her stomach turned queasily at the sight of it. _Stop it, _Leia ordered herself. There was absolutely no reason for a bout of stage fright. She had been on dozens of missions just like this one—this is what she had trained for most of her life—and there was no reason she wouldn't handle this one with the same competence as all the others.

Which is exactly what she had informed Carlist Rieekan and Mon Mothma of when they had first told her about it.

####

"**Leia," Mon Mothma had begun carefully, "I'm afraid this particular group of merchants will deal with no one other than you." **She looked soberly at the princess. "I did suggest several other representatives of the Alliance, including myself." Mon smiled at the surprised look on Leia's face. "Of course I would do it; I am no different than any other member of the Alliance," she continued, rebutting Leia's unspoken comment. "But this group from Commenor was adamant. They will only talk to you about the new B-wings. You must have made quite an impression on them at some point."

Leia merely nodded, thinking about the last time she'd encountered this group of merchants—smugglers was a more appropriate term. She Luke, Chewie, and Han—

"I'm happy to meet with them," Leia said firmly, quickly sidestepping the memory. "We had a good rapport the last time we negotiated," she continued. "I'm sure we'll come to a satisfactory arrangement." The princess looked at the two older persons. "We need those B-wings."

"Yes, we do, princess," General Rieekan agreed. "The group has provided us with a specific time and set of coordinates for the meeting." The general frowned a little. "I have no problem with the meeting time or place; their chosen location should make it very hard for the Empire to intrude." Rieekan's frown shifted to a faint smile of admiration. "This is a clever group. But," he continued in his usual brisk manner. "The very fact that they've chosen such an obscure location is going to make reaching the rendezvous point a tricky maneuver." He grew somber once more, and seemed to hesitate. "I need to choose a new, er—" Rieekan paused, correcting himself awkwardly, "appropriate team to pilot your ship and provide you with an escort," he said finally.

Rieekan looked at the princess. Leia's spine stiffened; she knew what he was waiting for. If he expected any show of emotion from her, he wasn't going to get it. She didn't need any sympathy, no matter how well intentioned the feeling might be. The fact that the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ and her crew were unavailable, _now there was an inadequate descriptor_, made no difference to anyone—except maybe to her—and certainly not to the upcoming mission.

"I'm sure whichever team you pick will be exemplary," Leia answered levelly, even as the weight of the general's unspoken words settled heavily on her shoulders. "Now, we need to go over the details," the princess prompted them.

Rieekan regarded Leia for another heartbeat, then flipped a switch. A holo of the rendezvous coordinates floated up in front of them. The three rebel leaders carefully went over every piece of information, all the while ignoring the very large bantha in the room.

####

**Alone in her small cabin, Leia knew that the time had come for that particular bantha to be addressed**. With Luke on Tatooine, refining his new found Jedi skills at Ben Kenobi's old homestead, and with Chewie—along with Lando Calrissian—in the _Falcon_ searching for the bounty hunter Boba Fett, the princess had to face an unavoidable truth. She was alone.

Of course, Leia would be the first to acknowledge that she would be anything but by herself on this mission. She was positive that General Rieekan would put together the very best pilot and team to take her to the rendezvous with the group from Commenor—and in the best ship available, too. _That would take all the excitement out of the trip, wouldn't it? _ A quick smile lifted the corners of Leia's mouth, before it faded away just as quickly, as the irony of that truth hit home. How odd it was that she'd much rather be traveling in that undependable bucket of bolts than on a ship that could be counted on to get her where she needed to go, and back again.

_This is stupid, Organa, _she informed herself. _The fact that they're gone; that he's gone—_

With an angry burst of energy, the princess strode across the room and plunged her hand into the small storage locker built into the bulkhead, pulling out her duffel. With sharp, jerky motions, she piled undergarments, socks, and an extra pair of pants and a shirt into the bag. From a recessed bin, Leia pulled extra power packs for her blaster, plus her small hold-out, and dumped them in on top of the clothes. Sealing the bag's fastenings with a snap, she tossed the duffel in front of the closed door. Then, with her nervous energy expended, Leia wearily hoisted herself up onto her bunk and heaved a tremulous sigh.

That kriffing bantha still taunted her. _Just face it and get it over with, Leia._

This would be the first time, in so long that she could barely imagine it, that she would be going on a mission without Luke and Chewbacca. And Han. It seemed to Leia that she'd always had Luke's sunny smiles and optimistic attitude, and Chewie's friendly howls and offhand courage, ever since the mad escape from the Death Star. And Han, always Han. Whether he was mocking, sarcastic and infinitely irritating—or loyal, brave, and wondrously loving. _Gods, she missed him!_

Leia brushed back at imagined hair, using the motion to swipe away the tears that once again filled her eyes. Really, she was getting sick of crying. Thank the gods no one ever saw the tears; she'd made sure that every soul she came into contact with knew that Princess Leia Organa was in complete control. She laughed bitterly, the harsh sound filling her quarters. _If they only knew._

No one would know. Tomorrow, she'd get on that unfamiliar ship and greet the as yet unknown pilot and copilot. She'd talk to whoever Carlist had chosen to accompany her—discussing the upcoming mission as a princess, and an Alliance leader, should. No one would be aware that she yearned for the beat-up upholstery of the Falcon's lounge, or that it tore at her heart not to see Chewbacca in the cockpit. And Han—especially Han.

With another sigh, this one as much frustration as anything else, Leia mopped the tears off her face with trembling fingers. She supposed she ought to get some sleep, or at least try to rest. Real sleep was a distant memory. The princess quickly changed into her nightclothes and dimmed the light. She would face tomorrow, tomorrow.

####

**Leia pulled the strap of her duffel onto her shoulder** and began her journey through the maze of _Home_ _One's_ corridors to the hold where her ship waited for her. The bag swung awkwardly, banging into her right hip. That was going to leave a bruise; it seemed that now every bump did. Her skin had gone thin and pale, along with the rest of her, since Bespin.

Even at this early hour, the ship was filled with people. And droids—cleaning droids, maintenance and mechanics droids. Also, apparently, one protocol droid.

"Mistress Leia, Mistress Leia!" Threepio called out to her.

"Good morning, Threepio," the princess answered politely as she paused, waiting for him to catch up. It was curious that the droid had sought her out. Maybe the mission had been cancelled? No, certainly someone would have commed her if that were the case.

"Mistress Leia," he repeated, sounding as if he were out of breath, which, of course, was impossible since Threepio had no lungs. "I understand you are going on a mission."

Leia nodded, still unsure where this was going.

"I was wondering if you would be needing my services." Threepio asked her. He cocked his head to one side.

"No," Leia said with a small smile. "I won't need you to translate. This group speaks Basic, and I've met with them before. But thanks for offering," she added.

"Oh," the droid sounded disappointed. "Well," he continued awkwardly. "Have a safe trip, your Highness." With a nod of his head, the droid tottered off.

_Well, that was…unusual. _Leia continued toward the hold. It was almost as if he just wanted to say goodbye; he'd never done that before. The princess smiled and shrugged, causing the bag to bump into her hip again. Sometimes Threepio's subroutines made him more sentient than some of the actual sentients she knew.

"Hey cuz!"

Leia turned to look down a cross-corridor, her eyes scanning for the owner of the voice.

"Do I have to keep reminding you we're not really cousins," she said as Wedge Antilles fell into step with her.

"Well, I know that," he grinned. "But way back…"

The princess gave an elegant shrug, the kriffing bag banging into her again. "Yeah, I know, way back," she said, her voice filled with dramatic exasperation.

Wedge kept smiling as he reached out a hand toward the duffel. "Can I carry that for you?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she insisted, hitching the bag a little higher on her shoulder. "Are you going this way too?" she asked him. He wasn't dressed for a mission; she wondered why he was heading toward the transport holds.

The Corellian's hand snaked out and snatched the bag off her shoulder. "I am now," he said cheerfully as he shouldered the duffel. Leia rolled her eyes at him.

"Are you?" he asked her, his face going serious.

"Am I what?" she asked as they stepped into a lift tube. Leia punched in the code for the proper hold and the car began to descend.

"Are you fine?"

"Of course I am," the princess snapped, unimpressed by Wedge's clever wordplay. "Why wouldn't I be?" She made a grab for her duffel, but Wedge skillfully sidestepped, his fighter-pilot reflexes serving him well. Leia stood stiffly next to him, fuming silently.

"It's okay to miss them," Wedge continued. "It's okay to miss him." He looked down at Leia. His hazel eyes, reminding her uncomfortably of Han's, were unusually sober. "I miss them all, too."

Leia swallowed the hard lump in her throat. Somehow, in her own misery, she'd managed to forget that Wedge Antilles was good friends with Luke, Chewie, and Han. And with her.

"Thanks, Wedge," she said softly, as the lift slowed its descent. "You're a good friend."

"You're welcome, cuz," he replied cheekily. Leia rolled her eyes again.

"Now give me my bag back," she grumbled at him.

By the time the door opened, the bag was firmly on her shoulder.

General Rieekan and Mon Mothma both stood at the base of the boarding ramp of her transport. The ship was a sleek craft; it looked almost elegant compared to the battered, cobbled-together appearance of the _Millennium_ _Falcon_. Leia felt her stomach lurch a little at that ship's absence. She willed it to settle as she moved forward to get her final instructions from the two Alliance leaders.

"Good morning general, Mon," she said. "Is there anything last minute I need to know about?"

"No, there's nothing new," Mon Mothma said. To Leia, the older woman actually looked a little bedraggled, as if she, too, had experienced a sleepless night. "We, I," Mon stumbled, "just wanted to wish you good luck with your mission." She smiled at Leia in an almost maternal fashion.

Leia couldn't have been any more startled than if Mon had started speaking Shyriiwook. She didn't recall another time that her mentor had been anything other than coolly professional. The other woman squeezed her arm and turned quickly toward the lift tube, pausing only to scowl at Wedge, who stood in the background, watching the proceedings, before she entered the lift.

"Leia," was the only thing Carlist Rieekan said to her before he, too, turned away. As Leia started slowly up the boarding ramp, she heard him address Wedge.

"Antilles, don't you have someplace else you ought to be?" he growled.

"Yes, sir!" Wedge snapped out.

Leia felt a small, warm smile creep across her face as she entered the strange ship and prepared to meet her new team. She might be by herself, and missing Luke and Chewie—and especially missing Han—but she wasn't alone after all. It would be all right, she would be all right. She had to be—for Han.


	25. Chapter 25

_I don't know if anyone follows _Star Wars _on _Instagram, _but four days ago they posted a perfectly wonderful picture of Harrison Ford, costumed as Han Solo. It begged for a fic to be written. I recommend you track down the picture, if you have the chance._

**Far Away**

"Okay, that'll do it!" Han Solo called out to his copilot. "Take her up!"

Chewie's responding yowl sounded from the depths of the _Millennium_ _Falcon's_ forward cargo hold. The freight lift creaked and groaned as it slowly began to rise, lifting the last of the crates up into the ship. Han stripped off his stained bantha-hide gloves and shoved them haphazardly into a pocket of his vest. He wiped his hand over his face, removing the sand and dust that coated absolutely everything on this miserable excuse for a planet. But there was no sweat; Tatooine was too kriffing dry for perspiration.

Why anybody would actually choose to live here remained a mystery to him, Han thought, as he trudged back to the _Falcon's_ lowered boarding ramp. The kid sure had gotten out of here as quickly as he could. Except, of course, it could have been under better circumstances. The murder of his aunt and uncle by Imperial stormtroopers… Yeah, well Luke was shed of the place now, and had absolutely no desire to return; he'd made that clear any number of times.

The cool air of the ship's interior hit the Corellian like a living thing, enveloping him as he made his way toward the cargo hold, stopping in the galley to snag a drink tube of cold water on his way through. Chewie had already gotten the crates of spare engine parts stacked and secured, he noted; that was fast work. Maybe that meant they could get off this rock. Han continued around the Falcon's main accessway and headed toward the cockpit. He found the Wookiee seated and wearing his headset, focused on the ship's sensor plot.

"Hey, Chewie," he began. "Great work on—"

Chewbacca snarled irritably and held up one hairy hand, telling Han to wait.

"Okay, okay," Han muttered as he dropped into the pilot's seat. He swallowed water from the tube, relishing the coolness against his parched throat. Right now, even the slightly chemical taste of the recycled liquid didn't bother him. He leaned back and extended his legs, watching curiously as Chewie flipped from one sensor view to the next. Finally he flipped a switch, returning the sensors to passive view. Evidently the Wookiee had all the information he needed. He removed his headset, hung it on its hook, and turned to Han.

"So, how long till we can lift off this dirtball?" Han asked him.

The answering grumble was not what Han wanted to hear.

"Why can't we go any sooner?" he demanded.

Chewbacca yowled irritably. With a series of exasperated barks and growls, the Wookiee explained to his partner that there was entirely too much space traffic right now for them to sneak off the planet. Traffic control was keeping too close an eye on incoming and outgoing ships.

Han grunted impatiently and slammed a fist against the control yoke. For reasons even he wasn't completely sure off, he wanted off Tatooine as quickly as possible; he sure as hells didn't want to sit here on the edge of the Western Dune Sea, baking in the suns, for the next two standard hours.

"So how long do we have to wait?" he snarled. Even to himself, Han thought he sounded more like a petulant child than an angry adult.

Chewbacca roared back at him. It was for Han's safety they were hiding under an outcropping in the middle of nowhere, instead of in a docking bay in Mos Eisley, he reminded the pilot. And they would stay here until nightfall, he continued, when they would have a better chance of an unobserved lift off. Unless, of course, Han would rather take his chances with Jabba the Hutt and his bounty hunters.

With an indecipherable growl, which sounded eerily similar to those of his co-pilot, Han slammed to his feet and stomped through the cockpit hatch.

Chewie barked after him, his blue eyes blazing.

"Where am I going?" Han called back as stormed down the access tube. "Out!" Pausing only long enough to grab a set of eyeshades, he marched down the ramp and into the blazing heat of late afternoon on Tatooine.

####

_**I hate this place.**_

Han stood at the base of the _Falcon's_ ramp, looking out over the vast emptiness of the Dune Sea, and wondered what in the hells was wrong with him. Putting the eyeshades on—Luke, who'd been raised here, could face the suns with his eyes uncovered, but Han found eyeshades a necessity—he strode ten or fifteen meters away from the ship, then stopped. There was nowhere for him to go, and both he and Chewie knew it. With no other options available, Han dropped to the sand, extending his legs halfway out in front of him. He would sit here in the suns and let them bake the cold of Hoth out of his bones.

Hoth. There was a planet you could hate. There was nothing there but ice, snow, and wind; half the equipment didn't work on account of the cold, and he had to wear way too kriffing many clothes. Why he was still there, Han had absolutely no idea. Tatooine was definitely several large steps up from Hoth.

Han shifted a little in the sand, trying to make himself more comfortable. It was hot, which really shouldn't have surprised him, he thought sourly. He could go back inside the ship, but after that scene with Chewie, he didn't really want to, not yet. Instead he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it to hang open, exposing his chest to the scorching heat.

He wanted to get off this stupid rock as quickly as he could, though he really wasn't sure why. Three years ago Han hadn't hated Tatooine; as a matter of fact he'd rather enjoyed it. He liked Mos Eisley: the cantinas that never closed, the perpetual sabacc games, the money he made smuggling for Jabba. A crooked grin lifted his lips. Yeah, the money had been great. So what had changed?

Absently, Han rubbed sand off the back of his neck.

Well, he had just dumped Jabba's load of spice, three years ago, and found out about the bounty on his head. Admittedly, then he'd only had to deal with Greedo, but there had been other bounty hunters since then. Fortunately only Chewie knew about that. And Tatooine had nothing to do with losing that spice; Bria Tharen did.

Bria. Han's breath caught in his throat; he hadn't thought about her in almost three years. He rubbed his hand over his mouth. He'd thought he'd loved her, then, and he'd believed she loved him, too. He didn't think that now. She'd used him when she needed him, and left him hanging out to dry when she was through with him. Han shifted again in the sand, still trying to get comfortable, though he wasn't sure if he was looking for physical or emotional comfort right now. When he'd heard Bria was dead, Han had felt a sharp, physical pain, like something in him had died. At the time, he'd thought it was because of his lost love. Now, he expected, it had more to do with the end of that part of his life; the feelings of his youth had well and truly been shot down in flames.

And, boy, did his life take a turn after that.

Han laughed, a dry, harsh sound. Hours after he'd sent that message to Bria's father, giving the poor man an expurgated version of his daughter's death, he'd met Luke Skywalker and old man Kenobi in the cantina—and hours after that he'd blasted out of Mos Eisley with Imp stormtroopers shooting at him. They'd been shooting at him ever since, he realized. He laughed again. He wondered if he would have done anything differently if he could have seen what was coming. Would he have said no to old Kenobi if he'd known about Alderaan, the Death Star, Leia?

Running both hands through his hair, Han shook his head in disbelief. Princess Leia Organa, the most stubborn, overbearing, domineering, single-minded woman he'd ever met! Why he didn't kill her in that detention block, he'd never know. She was just like Bria. Except, she was nothing like Bria. Not only were her physical characteristics the exact opposite of Bria's—and quite an attractive package they made, Han thought with a hungry grin—but the tiny princess would never lead him on, nor would she use him. Her beliefs were strong, and she lived by them. And what a fighter…

Han looked toward the far off horizon, hazy with dust and late afternoon heat. Tatoo I and Tatoo II were lower in the sky now; night would be coming, finally. It hadn't gotten any cooler, though. Han slipped his arms out of his open shirt and set it aside, letting the sinking suns shine on exposed flesh. Yeah, let the heat bake the cold out of him. He let his eyes drop shut behind the eyeshades.

Images of Leia danced before his closed lids. His first sight of her—a tiny white whirlwind, shouting orders and commandeering Luke's blaster to shoot open the grating to the garbage masher. Or, later, with disheveled hair and a damp, dirty dress as they ran for the _Millennium_ _Falcon_. And when she handed out those medals after the destruction of the Death Star. With her hair out of those ridiculous side buns, and a dress that clung lovingly to her form, and with a neckline designed for maximum appreciation of the princess's assets…

Han's eyes flew open, the twin suns causing him to squint, even behind the eyeshades. It was a more than a little disconcerting to him just how often his mind strayed to the petite princess. She was quite the sight to see—it was enough to distract any man—and he knew Luke found her just as attractive as he did. But, what really drew him to her was her spirit. She was brave, and she was committed, and boy…was she stubborn. But beyond all that, Leia was soft, and feminine, and sad—even a little bit lost. Han understood that feeling. He'd felt the same way himself, more times than he was willing to admit. What he really wanted to do was to tell her that, and to take her into his arms, and see if he couldn't make some of the sadness go away.

He shook his head again. _What in the hells had happened to him? _

He realized, surprise mixed with disbelief and a pinch of horror, that he didn't hate Tatooine—at least any more than he hated any other planet. No, Han wanted to get back to Hoth. He groaned aloud. He wanted to get back to Hoth because his friends were there. Luke, and Wedge, and the rest of the Rogues. Carlist Rieekan, a commanding officer who he didn't hate—and actually respected—and Leia. Gods help him, he wanted to get back to Leia. And just maybe, she was waiting for him to get back. Not that either of them would say so—not yet, anyway. But he was working on her. His crooked grin reappeared.

Han took off his eyeshades as he watched the suns approach the horizon; first I, then II, dipped below the far-off dunes with final hazy glimmers. Luke had told him this was his favorite part of the day on Tatooine—watching the suns set. He had to agree with the kid on this one; it was an amazing sight. Han had never thought to watch it before.

An interrogatory bark called Han back to reality. Chewie towered over him.

"What, you big furball?" Han asked indignantly. "I'm not sulking. I'm thinking."

Chewie awroofed politely, but his nose twitched with amusement. Had Han sorted out his problems, he inquired.

"Yeah, I think I figured some things out." Han answered, refusing to rise to the bait. "You don't need to be so kriffing superior." He grabbed his shirt and eyeshades, craning his neck up and around to look at the Wookiee. "So, can we leave now?" he asked.

Chewie yowled an enthusiastic affirmative.

"Well, then, let's get out of here." Han smiled into the dark as he rose to his feet and slipped the shirt back on. "We can't keep her Worship waiting.


	26. Chapter 26

**To Dance**

_It was only day three._

Leia dropped the reader-tablet onto the holotable, where it landed with a discordant clatter. Rubbing the space between her lowering brows with a finger, she heaved a sigh. It was testament to her strength of will that she didn't whine _are we there yet_ like the peevish toddler she felt like right now. It would be another eight days—at the very earliest—before they reached Bespin. The princess wasn't sure she could stand it.

Maneuvering out from behind the game-table, Leia moved into the _Falcon's_ small galley to make herself a mug of elderflower tea. She would have preferred kaf, but was afraid that another cup of that stimulating beverage would have her jumping out of her skin. Besides, this kaf was the real thing, and she wanted to be sure that they had enough to last them until they got to Bespin. Leia wasn't sure if she could ever go back to the tasteless, freeze-dried version she'd been drinking for the last three years—at least not first thing in the morning. She smiled sourly. Who would have thought that Han Solo would stock anything as decadent, or as delightful, as real kaf on this hopeless bucket of bolts which could only generously be referred to as a space craft? The man never ceased to amaze her.

Setting the dispenser to brew, Leia leaned back against the bulkhead wall to wait. Except for that completely unexpected kiss in the electrical bay, Han's behavior the past three days had been remarkably unremarkable. Instead of the irksome teasing, taunts, and goading that had been the cornerstones of their relationship up until now, he was being civil—even friendly—toward her, which only served to leave her feeling confused and uncertain about their current status. Admittedly, she didn't see that much of him; most of his time was spent either in the cockpit keeping watch, or in the hyperdrive bay, still trying to bring the faster-than-light engines back online, which was turning out to be an exercise in futility.

The communal dinners the three ate together at the end of each day were a pleasant experience. She loved listening to the quick banter between Han and Chewie—her understanding of Shyriiwook was improving at lightspeed pace—and the stories the two of them told about their different adventures were fascinating. She had comfortable quarters and was treated not as a princess, nor as a burden, but as an equal. Leia had nothing to complain about.

Except that her mind kept going back to that kriffing kiss! Damn the man to the lowest of the hells for implying that they were anything more than friendly colleagues. She'd worked so hard to build a strong fortification around her heart—wartime didn't allow time for personal feelings—and the cursed man kept finding ways over, under, or through her defensive wall. Her thoughts about that kiss were warm, tingling, and extremely personal.

Her tea brewed, the petite woman moved back to the curved banquette behind the holotable. Seating herself, Leia retrieved the reader-tablet and thumbed it on. She scanned through the available titles, looking for a tome that would hold her interest for another few hours. It was an amazingly eclectic collection of reading materials. Beyond the inevitable technical manuals, there were mysteries and thrillers, plus a number of fantasy works and swashbucklers—Leia would have thought the Corellian was too cynical a soul for heroic adventures. The titles that had the princess completely dumbfounded, however, were the romances. Those couldn't belong to Han or Chewie, they just couldn't. The obvious counterpoint to this thought—that there had been another woman who'd traveled on the _Millennium_ _Falcon_—filled Leia with a surprising amount of heat.

Restlessly, she rose and paced the circumference of the hold once, then twice, before chiding herself for behaving like a naïve schoolgirl. It didn't matter to her if Han had traveled with an entire harem of women. Leia laughed soundlessly; she could picture them in her mind—buxom blondes and tall, willowy red-heads. She tugged at the neck of her white snow-fatigues. The collar had suddenly become much too tight for comfort, and the thermal material entirely too warm, despite the ship's admittedly cool interior.

_Stop it, Leia! _

With an attitude of calm deliberateness, Leia re-seated herself on the banquette and surveyed the list on the tablet for a second time. She finally decided on a classic: _The Rogue of Entarra Prime. _She'd read it before, when she was still studying with her tutors on Alderaan. It was the story of a noble man, forced to hide as a thief and mercenary, in order to free his home world from the petty tyrant who had taken power from its rightful ruler. Its old-fashioned, florid style ought to keep her mind from wandering aimlessly for the next few hours. And the first time she'd read it, Leia remembered she'd rather enjoyed it. Tapping the title with a stiff finger, the princess settled down to read.

Leia stopped short a third of the way through the book. Somehow, as she'd been reading, the muscular, classically handsome hero's blond hair and chiseled good looks had morphed into a long, lean body with a shaggy mop of brown hair and a crooked scoundrel's grin. _Gods, Leia, get a grip; it was just one kiss. _

Setting the tablet down, she closed her eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths to clear her mind. _That should do it,_ she told herself. At least it sufficed until Leia opened them again, and saw that Han had seated himself across the table from her. One eyebrow was raised, and that damnable crooked smile was spread across his features. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest.

"What are you reading?" he asked her.

Ever the trained diplomat, Leia schooled her features to polite interest. She couldn't let him see how much his mere presence unnerved her.

"_The Rogue of Entarra Prime," _she answered matter-of-factly.

"That's a good one." Han's smile grew, and Leia could see that it was genuine. "How far are you?"

Leia could feel a heated blush spread up her face from under the once again too tight collar of her uniform. She had just arrived at one of her favorite—and one of the story's more romantic—sections. It was one she'd read over and over as a young girl. She grabbed her mug and took a quick gulp; she hoped the heat from the tea would explain her red cheeks.

"The dance at the palace," Leia responded.

"Ah. Where Delavane dances with Elida," Han expanded. "Where they discover their real feelings for each other."

So he had read it, Leia thought in some surprise.

"And Delavane is in disguise so that no one knows he's the thief that's been robbing them blind," Han continued with his cocky grin.

Leia nodded and looked away. The years flew away and suddenly she was thirteen years old again, reading a silly book, thinking about her first formal dance and imagining how wonderful it would be to have the Rogue dance with her. How young she'd been then, and how naïve. But a small part of her wished she could be that young, innocent princess again, just for one dance.

"Leia?"

Leia jerked her head up and blinked rapidly, hoping Han wouldn't see the sadness.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

_Damn it! _

"I was just thinking about the dances when I was growing up." There was no use lying to him, Leia thought, at least not right now. Han Solo seemed to have an uncanny ability to see right through to her soul. "We used to have a lot of them," she smiled sadly. "I really enjoyed them."

Han nodded, his face sober. Then he stood up and offered her his hand. "Wanna dance?" he asked.

"What?" Leia stared stupidly at him; she mustn't have heard him correctly. Either that or she'd just had a cerebral hemorrhage.

A smile twitched at the corner of Han's lips. "Do you want to dance?" he repeated. "I know I've got some music here that would work." He turned away to punch at the entertainment unit.

Leia continued to stare in stunned disbelief as he flipped toggles and pushed buttons. Her astonishment grew as the strains of the Imperial Symphony Orchestra filled the lounge, playing the music for a familiar waltz. Han turned back to face her and made a perfect, courtly bow.

"Your highness?" he held out one hand in invitation.

Wordlessly, Leia rose and took the proffered hand. With practiced grace, the Corellian swept her into position, with one of his hands holding hers, the other resting on the small of her back. Leia swore she could feel each of those fingers burning through her fatigues and into the skin on her back. Then Han began to dance.

He was light on his feet, kept perfect time with the music, and never missed a step. Leia, to her horror, missed several, but her partner guided her skillfully around her missteps. The music and the movement took her then, and she put her arm around his waist as she and Han danced around the lounge; suddenly she was young and innocent and happy. It was every bit as wonderful as the thirteen year old girl could have ever imagined—and as the grown woman could have ever dreamed.

By the time the music came to an end, the proper distance between the two dancers had disappeared, and Leia's body was pressed familiarly against Han's strong one. The charge the princess felt was as strong as that from an ion cannon, and there was ample evidence that Han felt it too. They stood there in the silence for a long moment, hearts beating in time as they held one another. Leia thought, just then, that if she could die in that moment, she'd have everything she ever wanted.

But it couldn't last forever. Han dropped his arm, and hers. He bent forward to kiss her, not on the lips like before, but gently on her forehead. With an uncertain half-smile he turned away.

"I've got to get back on watch," he muttered as he left the lounge. Leia watched his departing form until he rounded the bend in the access tube, then she hurried away to her bunk in the crew quarters. She didn't turn on the lights; she wanted to remember for a little longer.

The princess lay in the dark for a long time, wondering if the dance had really happened or if she'd just dreamed it. But she could still feel his hand on her back, and his body pressed against hers. Leia smiled into the darkness.

Han Solo would never stop surprising her. In a few short minutes he'd knocked down a few dozen more bricks in her defensive wall. Not with flowery words, not with kisses, but just because he knew she wanted to dance.


	27. Chapter 27

_I hope that everyone has seen the new trailer/teaser for _The Force Awakens. _My own personal opinion…it's wonderful. Since last night—and I've only watched the trailer once—this little, tiny, tidbit has been in my head begging to be written. Here it is._

**Now**

_Do you think a princess and a guy like me…? _How many years ago had he said that? Decades—it had been decades—even though it felt more like eons. Han didn't look down at the small woman pressing tight against him. He didn't have to. Every part of her, the shape of her warm body, the scent of her skin, was as familiar to him as the beat of his own heart—and as necessary to him as oxygen. How had he survived so long without her?

Long ago, Luke's answer to Han's taunting question had been a resounding no. Which was exactly the response that the younger Han Solo had been looking for. What would a world-wise smuggler want with an oh-so-young, and incredibly superior-acting little princess? And getting a rise out of the equally young and extremely naïve farm boy had been all he'd wanted. Except that three years after that, Han had been perfectly willing to give his own life for Leia's safety.

Just like he would die for her now.

But life, he'd come to realize, was all about now. What had come before—the years he and Chewie had wandered the galaxy with no other goal than making money and taking care of themselves—didn't matter. Nor did what came after; the years he and Chewie had wandered the galaxy with no other goal than getting home. None of that mattered now, because now he had Leia in his arms again. And in this moment, Han Solo was whole.

And since there was no way of knowing what might come in the next hour, or minute, or second—this moment was all that mattered.

Han grasped Leia's trembling shoulders and carefully moved her away from him. Not far, just enough so that he could tilt her face up toward his. As he looked at her familiar, beloved face, he felt all the lost time melt away. Her dark eyes were bottomless pools, filled to overflowing now with the tears that streamed unheeded down her soft cheeks. Leia didn't cry often, she was too tough for that; Han didn't cry very often either. He smiled crookedly as he quickly swiped the tears from his own cheeks.

Leia's lips trembled as she smiled back.

With the reverence this precious moment deserved, Han took Leia's face between his hands, using his thumbs to gently wipe away her tears. He bent his face toward hers. When her lips parted to speak, he only shook his head no. They didn't need words, not now.

Then, finally, after all the time and all the distance that had been between them, their breath mingled and their lips met. At first the kiss was soft, tentative—they'd been apart for so long—then it blossomed with passion. Han slid his hand behind her head, tangling his fingers in her hair as he crushed his mouth into hers. Leia clasped her tiny hands around his neck, pulling him even closer to her with a strength that surprised them both. The galaxy around them disappeared.

At last, when they were both certain that the other was really, truly there, their lips parted—but only so that Han could pull Leia tight against his chest, cradling her head to his heart.

"Leia," was all he said.


	28. Chapter 28

**Sea Change**

Han opened his eyes to darkness. Immediately his pulse began to pound and his breath caught in his throat. _Easy Solo, _he admonished, _tamp it down before you blow something. _He took one deep, deliberate breath, then another. The tightness behind his breastbone loosened, and the wild beating of his heart slowed to normal. Calmer now, he realized the dark wasn't complete, and that he wasn't still in his carbonite prison. Glancing around, he was able to make out the faint glow of the lights on the door release, the time on a small chrono, the curve of a woman's hip. The corners of his mouth lifted in a fond smile.

"Lights, quarter power," he ordered softly.

Obligingly, the MonCal ship raised the lights in the small sleeping quarters to a soft, dawn-like glow. _I gotta get me some of those for the _Falcon, Han thought, even as he marveled at the sight of Leia Organa, sound asleep, her naked body pressed up against his in the bunk. _What in the hells did I do to get so lucky? _Just two days ago he'd been a decoration on Jabba's wall; the sudden change boggled his mind. Not that he was complaining about it, of course.

Careful not to disturb the sleeping princess, Han shifted to the edge of the bed and let his legs drop toward the floor. Stiffly, he pulled himself to his feet, the chill air of the ship causing a crop of tiny bumps to sprout on his naked flesh. As he reached down to pull on his trousers, he smothered a groan; a dozen aches made themselves known. _I'm too young to feel this old, _he thought with a sour smile. He had to admit, though, that he'd been feeling pretty youthful last night. A lopsided grin spread across his face. He was reasonably sure Leia didn't have any complaints about his performance, either. The stiffness in his body seemed to melt away with that thought, and there was a bounce to his step as he headed for the 'fresher.

Minutes later he reappeared: clean, shaved, and dressed. Leia had shifted in the bunk, but hadn't wakened. Han untangled a tumbled sheet from the foot of the bed and pulled it up over her sleeping form. Gently, he brushed the tousled silk of her hair away from her face and kissed her lightly on the lips. Her mouth curved up in a sleepy smile.

"Leia?" he asked softly.

When there was no response, he straightened._ At least she didn't have any nightmares last night, _he thought, relieved. Nothing tore at his heart more than to hear Leia relive the destruction of Alderaan, over and over, every night in her dreams. _Let her sleep; she needs it. _He was pretty sure they weren't going to have a lot of free time after the briefing scheduled for later that morning. There were big things about to happen with the Alliance; Han could feel it in the very air recycling through the ship. But right now he needed a kaf—a huge one.

Just as he raised his hand to palm open the hatch, Han caught sight of the small bottle of bacta drops he'd dumped on a tiny wall shelf the night before. He should probably use them, he thought with some irritation. He hated the thought of medication, just on principle. He'd never needed med droids before he'd hooked up with the Rebels. Well, almost never. At least, not as often before as since, he conceded.

Resigned, he tipped his head back and squeezed the bacta drops into each eye. Kriff, the stuff burned! However, two days ago he'd been as blind as a Tatooine sand worm, so he supposed he shouldn't complain. Besides, he couldn't risk doing—or not doing—anything that might put Leia in danger. Or Luke. Or Chewie.

Or the Alliance.

Son of a Sith! That last thought caught him completely off-guard. Acknowledging the uncomfortable truth with a sigh, he opened the door and ventured out into the busy corridors of _Home_ _One_.

It wasn't hard to locate the ship's commissary, all he had to do was follow the flow of tired and hungry looking beings. Occasionally someone he passed in the corridor would smile and welcome him back to the Alliance, but most of the faces he saw were unfamiliar.

The same was true when he stepped into the ship's mess. Like every other piece of Mon Calamari ship building, the eatery was both more than adequate—and unexpectedly pleasant—for all the ship's company. Scanning the crowded facility, Han saw Chewie's familiar, shaggy, form at the far end of the room, sitting with Wedge Antilles and several other Rogue Squadron members. Luke, it seemed, hadn't made it back to the fleet yet. Unconsciously, he ran a hand along the back of his neck. He hoped the kid was okay. He'd seemed fine back on Tatooine, in fact, he'd been damned impressive, but Leia had told him how Luke lost his hand fighting against Darth Vader. Gods! That kind of thing left a mark on you, and Han didn't mean on the kid's wrist.

After retrieving a cup of kaf, extra-large, Han started weaving his way through tables to join his friends. He'd only made it halfway there when a woman's voice halted his progress.

"Welcome back, Captain Solo," Mon Mothma tilted her head back, but didn't rise from her seat to greet him. Neither did Jan Dodonna, though Crix Madine stood and offered his hand. Han gave it a perfunctory shake.

"It's good to be back," he said with a slight inclination of his head. That was true, as far as it went, and Leia would be pleased that he didn't add _Sorry to ruin all your plans by being alive. _The thought had crossed his mind.

"Do you have any idea where Princess Leia might be this morning?" the Alliance Supreme Commander asked him, all innocence in her silky voice.

_Come on, lady! _Han thought irritably. _You know we spent the night together; the whole kriffing Alliance knows. Not that it mattered to him who knew, not anymore. _

"When I left her this morning, she was still sleeping," he answered with a half-smile. "Should I tell her you're looking for her?"

Han was pleased to see Mon Mothma's eyes spark with anger. He took a perverse pleasure in antagonizing her.

"I just want to make sure she makes the briefing," she said in a cool voice.

"I wouldn't worry about that." Han's smile was equally cold. "You know she's very good about meetings." He nodded his head again. "Have a good morning," he said as he walked away.

Han wondered where General Rieekan was; he hoped he hadn't been a casualty of the Hoth retreat. That would be a hard loss. The Alderaanian soldier had become something of a surrogate father for Leia, and he was one of the few members of the Alliance command who Han could truly respect—most of them were a little too sanctimonious for his liking. But he thought he'd seen the tiniest glimmer of amusement in Madine's eyes as Han had sparred with Mon Mothma. Maybe he wasn't all bad. Maybe.

He had to admit it felt good to be back among friends, as Wedge and the others shifted to make room for him at their table. Han put up with their good-natured teasing about his six-month vacation, and about his obvious change in status with the princess—realizing Wes Janson, the unrepentant joker, was going to get months of fodder from it—with real pleasure. He was palpably relieved to learn that Carlist Rieekan was alive and well, both for Leia's sake, as well as his own. He was saddened to learn about the deaths of the Rogues who'd been killed during the battle on Hoth, and in the months since. They'd been good pilots, and they had been his friends.

A frightening realization hit him then, with a ferocity that almost knocked him from his chair. When had he, Han Solo, who never needed anything from anyone, become a part of something greater than himself? It was a new and strange thought. The concept washed over him like waves from an angry sea. For one panicky moment, he thought he might drown in it, losing himself completely. But as he sat here among his friends, thinking about Leia, and Luke, and all the rest, he knew that he wasn't losing himself at all, he'd just become more of the person he always wanted to be. And, he realized, the time had come for him to do something about it.

Looking across the crowded dining area, he wondered which of the Alliance bigwigs he should approach. _Not Mon Mothma! _There was just something about that woman…

As if in answer to his prayer, Han saw Crix Madine rise and excuse himself from the other two Alliance leaders. Saying a hurried goodbye to his own tablemates, he followed the general to the door. Of the three officials he could locate, he figured Madine was the one most likely to understand Han's change of heart. The man had had his own sea change, after all, from elite Imperial operative to Alliance general. And he was Corellian.

"General!" Han caught up with the other man as he stepped out into the busy corridor.

"Captain Solo, is there something I can do for you?" Madine asked politely.

"General, is there someplace private we can talk?"

"I'm pretty busy right now, Solo," Madine said as he continued walking. "We're planning a major operation."

"I know that," Han said. "And I'd like to help."

Madine stopped mid-step, and his eyes narrowed as he looked his fellow Corellian up and down. "I assumed you'd be with the princess," he said.

"No," Han objected. "Well, yes, I will be." _Doing whatever I can do to keep her from risking her neck, at any rate. _"I meant in an official capacity," he explained.

Now the general's eyes widened with surprise. "Come with me to my office, Solo," he invited, "I think we do need to talk."

Fifteen standard minutes later, much more quickly than Han had expected, it was done. Putting his name to the necessary forms had taken almost no time at all; one would think they had been expecting him to sign on. Maybe they had. Madine, like Rieekan, obviously knew about Han's aborted career in the Imperial navy, and was more than willing to put the smuggler's Academy Officers Training to use. What the Alliance was planning was risky, but it was a chance they had to take. It was a risk Han Solo was willing to take, too, even if he still couldn't quite believe that fact himself.

When General Han Solo stepped back out into the busy passageways of _Home One_, the look on his face was self-conscious and preoccupied, yet oddly proud. His mind danced dizzily between thoughts of necessary personnel and supplies for the upcoming mission he would be leading, and how he was going to tell Chewie and Leia about his change of status. Chewie would be easy, the big furball had wanted them to officially join the Alliance from the very beginning. Of course, having your planet firebombed and placed under martial law, and having been enslaved by the Empire yourself would inspire that. Han knew he would have to survive one of the Wookiee's joyful, rib-cracking hugs—but he could deal with that.

Leia would take a little more finesse, Han reasoned, as his long stride carried him back toward their shared berth. She'd be shocked, of course—and happy, really happy. Then she would want to know what had changed his mind. After years of his refusing to commit, it was a perfectly reasonable question. He just wasn't quite sure how to answer it, since he still wasn't sure of all the answers to that question himself.

Han was still trying to puzzle things out in his own head when he turned down another passageway, nearly bowling into two MonCal technicians; only his lightning fast reflexes kept him upright. _Geez, Solo, get your head in the game. _Even Han had to concede that Mon Calamari were kind of hard to miss.

"Sorry," he muttered to the pair, still distracted, as he sidestepped out of their way. The passage, he noted, was remarkably full of beings walking the other direction. He must have spent more time with Madine and his staff than he realized. Massaging an ache in his spine—one more reminder of his six month stay in carbonite—he stepped up his pace, wanting to catch Leia before the big meeting, while still considering what had been his turning point.

The Alliance, when they won, would just be one more government, and Han wasn't particularly fond of governments, though he was willing to concede you had to have them. He paused to consider this; maybe it was more about the people who ran them. There were the good ones, like Leia, who really worried about the people. But then there were the ones who were in it for the glory—the career politicians—Han couldn't stand them. Even worse were the ones whose every whim became law, like Shrike had been when he was growing up. And like Palpatine.

He paused at a complex junction of three corridors—leave it to the MonCal to make things fancy—before unerringly choosing the one to the far left. He grinned—at least his piloting skills were still strong.

It was Palpatine's government that had nearly destroyed Kashyyk, and that had destroyed Alderaan. It was his government that had killed Luke's aunt and uncle, and that had frozen Han in carbonite. Han had no doubt that Emperor Palpatine had endorsed each and every one of those actions, even if he hadn't committed them himself.

Then, with the sudden shock of a laser blast, Han understood why he'd signed on to the cause. Not that he was eager to put a new government in place, but rather that he wanted to get rid of the one that was in power now—the one that had hurt those he cared about. He'd worry about the new government, and who was going to run it, when they won.

Pleased to have sorted out the reasons to his satisfaction, Han continued on toward his and Leia's quarters, wondering what was taking the princess so long. It wasn't like her to oversleep; had he worn her out last night? His lips formed a self-satisfied smirk.

"Han!"

The Corellian looked wildly around for a moment, trying to locate the source of the voice. Leia stood directly in front of him, one hand propped on her hip. _How could he have missed her?_

"Hey, Flyboy, you okay?" she asked him, the concern in her dark eyes negating any exasperation he heard in her voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Han objected, reining his meandering mind back to the here and now. "The kriffing med droid you insisted I see when we got here said as much." He smiled down at her. "Didn't I prove that to you last night?" Han was pleased to see a blush spread across the princess's fair cheeks.

"Well, you're going the wrong way," she admonished. "Unless you're not going to the briefing?" Leia asked.

Han looked down at her face and saw…saw what? It wasn't anger—which would have been her go to reaction before Bespin—and it wasn't fear, exactly. He reached out to run a finger along her cheek. Leia took his hand in hers, pulling it away from her face but not letting it go. She turned her impossibly dark eyes to his.

It was worry. Leia was worried he wouldn't go to the briefing, that he didn't care what happened next. She wanted him there, Han could tell. Maybe she even needed him there.

"Of course I'm going to the briefing," Han announced as Leia turned him back in the other direction. "I've got to see what kind of crazy stunt the high command has planned this time."

Leia rolled her eyes and smacked him on the arm as they joined the parade of beings heading for the briefing, but Han could tell she was relieved that he was attending.

Just wait until she finds out everything, Han thought to himself as they entered the spacious briefing room. It was filled to bursting. This wasn't the way he'd planned to tell her—he'd envisioned a bottle of Corellian wine and some congratulatory lovemaking—but there was no way around , and Leia would be happy no matter where they were when she heard the news. It was what it was, at any rate, and he still had some mission preparations to make.

Almost immediately, Leia was swept into conversations with other Alliance personnel. Han moved to a seat, leaning back to observe the princess. He was always amazed at how Leia seemed to thrive in situations like this—greeting, planning, reassuring—being a leader for a cause she believed in with every fiber of her body. He'd always loved her unwavering commitment, he realized, even when he didn't understand it.

He thought he understood it now.

Han smiled to himself. He'd joined the Alliance for so many reasons; but the most important reason—the reason he'd stayed all these years—was Leia.


	29. Chapter 29

_Author's notes: It's been so long since I've posted anything, I barely remember how. I'm sorry to have been away for so long, but real life has provided enough trauma for myself and my family, there have been days when I barely have time to think, much less open the computer. But I might have a grip on things now. Maybe. I'm sure going to try. I want to thank all of those people who have read, faved, and/or reviewed my stories in my long absence. I'm very, very grateful. And I do want to assure everyone that I am going to finish Supply Run. I promise._

**Halfway There**

Eight days gone; nine more to go until they made it to Bespin. Han watched the stars slowly trail by the durasteel struts and transparasteel screens of the cockpit canopy and heaved a gusty sigh. He never felt more at home than when he was on board the _Falcon_, but he had to admit; this was ridiculous. Traveling at sublight was getting old in a hurry, which was the only thing about this trip moving quickly. Stretching his legs out beneath the control board the pilot groaned. Gods, he was feeling stiff. Maybe he should get some exercise, even though working out struck the Corellian as one of the more useless wastes of time and energy.

Twisting around, Han's long, nimble fingers pushed buttons and flicked switches on the navicomputer. They were still directly on course, inching their way to the relative safety of Bespin and the uncertain protection of Lando Calrissian. It would have been nice if the kriffing hyperdrive had been as cooperative as the autopilot was proving to be; then they wouldn't be in this mess. Han rubbed a hand across his lips and down his chin as he swiveled forward in the pilot's seat.

The failure of the hyperdrive was a mixed blessing. It had kept him from getting Leia safely to the rendezvous with the fleet; they were still an easy target for the Empire—and gods knew what else—as they limped along at sublight speed. It had also embarrassed the hells out of him. The corner of Han's mouth quirked up in a wry half-smile; his daring rescue completely ruined as the transfer circuits had groaned in protest—and then refused to transfer so much as an erg of energy!

On the other hand, eight days living in the _Falcon's_ close quarters had given him plenty of time to get to know her Worshipfulness—the high and mighty Princess Leia Organa. Who, he was discovering, wasn't as high and mighty as he once believed. Oh, they'd had their arguments—she wouldn't be Leia if she wasn't objecting to or criticizing every other thing about himself and his ship—but they had their quiet moments, too. Han found himself looking forward to their shared meals in the lounge and easy chats in the cockpit—and it seemed the princess was, too.

He'd learned a lot about Leia over flavorless ships' rations and countless cups of caf. The princess had told him about her childhood and education, which was much more demanding than he'd expected—okay, maybe he'd concede that her Worship wasn't quite as spoiled as he'd first thought—as well as her beliefs and opinions. Kriff, there was a lot going on inside that woman's head! And, gods help him, he'd found himself telling her about his life. Admittedly, it was an edited version—there was no way he was going to tell her everything, ever—but Han had been more open with her than he'd been with anybody, except Chewie. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take, but he was surprisingly glad he'd taken it this time.

Leia had neither criticized nor pitied him. She'd only nodded at the worst of it, like his growing up under Shrike's control, and Dewlanna's sacrifice for him. When he'd told her about his time and adventures in the Corporate Sector—carefully expurgated, of course—her dark eyes had glittered with amusement, even as she struggled to look stern. Han had hesitated before telling the princess about his time at the Imperial Academy, and his brief career as a naval officer before he was cashiered. He'd been afraid, god's help him, _afraid, _of what her reaction to that little tale might be; but once again she'd only nodded. Han could see approbation in her look; she understood what that decision had meant to him.

She came wrapped in a pretty nice package, too. Han mused on the mass of dark hair that matched her impossibly dark eyes, then went on to consider the swell of her breasts, her tiny waist, and her well-rounded hips and derriere.

_But she's so damn young, Solo._

Han was surprised that he needed to remind himself of this, even as he felt the first stirrings of passion—or lust—in the tightness of his trousers. Yet, it had been a while, a very long while by the Corellian's standards, since he'd satisfied that particular craving, and he had only himself to blame. When he'd found himself staying with the Rebels—his obvious first mistake—he'd had any number of encounters with the opposite sex: several X-wing pilots, a mechanic or two, even some of the command staff. Those had been the most fun, he had to admit, both risky and exciting. And they'd had the added benefit of pissing off her Worshipfulness.

Then the thrill had worn off, and Han Solo found himself suddenly celibate. Not that he still didn't receive overtures and offers from any number of females—a rakish grin filled his countenance at that thought—but he realized that he just wasn't interested. It appeared that only Leia would be able to resolve that particular urge: her lovely face and form, her keen wit and sharp tongue, and her undeniable loyalty and bravery had narrowed the field to one.

Reaching over, Han flicked a few random switches, anything to take his mind off the princess, and in the process, discovered a few strands of her long hair on the control board. Wrapping them around his finger, he swore he could detect Leia's sweet, undefinable scent in the cockpit. A familiar warmth spread through him and his trousers grew even more uncomfortable. Kriff! Things were getting out of control; he was spiraling out of control.

"She's so damned young," he muttered to himself.

"Do you always talk to yourself, Captain?"

Startled, Han's gaze flew to the cockpit canopy, where he could see Leia's reflection.

Since the princess had escaped Hoth with only the clothes on her back, Han had suggested she go through one of the lesser used storage lockers, filled with an odd assortment of clothing he had accumulated over the years. He'd offered that there must be something in there that she could wear in place of her dirty snow fatigues—which desperately needed to be run through a few cycles of the autovalet. Leia had finally decided on a faded blue shirt and a much worn pair of Han's spacer pants. She'd had to roll up the trousers at the ankles to keep from tripping on them when she walked, but they fit snugly over the roundness of her hips. The shirt was the only one she could fwear that didn't hang down to her knees—it must have been Jarik's, Han thought with a twinge of grief—but its low V highlighted her full, creamy breasts.

She stood behind him now with one fist balled against her hip, a taunting smile lifting her lips. _Gods, she was beautiful. _Han dropped his hands to his lap.

"I only do it when I've got to deal with a snarky princess," he retorted automatically.

The princess opted to not respond to the barb; it wasn't as if she didn't hear it often enough, he thought. Instead she sank down into Chewbacca's seat, silent as she gazed out the canopy. Han moved his hands, letting them rest lightly on the control yoke as he watched Leia watch the stars.

"Chewie said he'd be up to stand watch in a little while," she informed him. "He's in the lounge now having dinner…or maybe it's breakfast." Leia huffed out a sigh. "Traveling at sublight, it's hard to tell whether it's morning or night." She rubbed her fingers against her forehead. "Gods, this is getting old. If only the hyperdrive worked."

Han's hands clenched on the yoke, his temper flaring. Her Worship could say what she would about him, he really didn't care, but he hated when she was disrespectful of the _Falcon_—even if she was echoing his own thoughts exactly.

"Hey, sweetheart," he growled at her. "Don't forget; if it weren't for this ship, you'd have been frozen to the ground back on Hoth. And if you weren't," he continued, his anger increasing as he thought of their mad dash through the crumbling corridors of Echo Base, "you'd probably be enjoying the hospitality of Darth Vader's flagship."

"And if it weren't for this useless bucket of bolts, I wouldn't be expecting to see Vader's fleet to appear every other second!" Leia shot back, jumping to her feet.

Black fury drove Han to his feet as well. Of all the… "Listen, sister," he reminded her, jabbing a stiff finger under her nose. "You ought to be grateful that I—this ship," he amended quickly, "got you off that rock." They stood toe to toe in the cramped cockpit, glaring at one another.

It struck Han then, in a dizzying wave of realization as he stared into Leia's dark, sparking eyes; he would gladly die for her if that would keep her safe. The concept was at once both so startling and so obvious that it was only sheer willpower that kept him from staggering backward.

And he wanted her. Unthinking, he reached out and pulled her toward him, lowering his mouth to hers. Fiercely, he crushed her lips with his as his tongue probed deep inside her mouth. As he cupped her head with his hand, undoing whatever complex knot she'd constructed to hold her hair back, Leia responded. Instead of pulling back, as he'd feared she would, the princess wrapped one arm around his shoulder. With her other hand she pulled his face closer to hers, her tongue dancing in time with his.

Gods, he could taste her as their breath mingled: sweet, with hot, spicy overtones. Han groaned aloud. The kiss eight days ago in the service bay had been searching, a tentative testing of the waters. This kiss was all heat and unbridled passion. _She's so young, Solo; _a voice called in his head. He wanted to ignore it.

"Leia," he gasped instead, his breath coming in sharp bursts. "Do you want—? I mean, do you understand—?" Han could barely get the words out; his tongue was thick with passion.

She stiffened as Han pulled his mouth away from hers. Leia laughed, short and breathy, its heat tickling his lips. "Han, I'm an adult," she breathed to him with a gasp, answering the voice in his head. "I know what I want."

Grasping a fistful of his thick hair in her hand, Leia pulled his mouth back down to hers. She arched her back, rubbing her hips against his manhood. Han moaned in pleasure as he grew hard against her, cupping her bottom to pull her even closer.

Surprising him, Leia pulled herself up, wrapping strong legs around Han's hips, her mouth never leaving his.

_Now, _Han's animal brain screamed. _Now!_

Somehow, Han managed to get the cockpit door open, staggering under the princess's desired weight, never once losing his grip on her butt, or his lock on her lips.

Chewbacca was just coming down the access corridor as Han and Leia hurried past on their way to the captain's quarters. He huffed a laugh and awrooled a comment as he edged past the tangled couple.

"What did he say?" Leia managed to ask as Han palmed open the door to his quarters.

"He's just grouching that now he's got to do the whole watch by himself," Han stated as they tumbled onto his bunk, their hands tearing at each other's clothes. Not in any of the nine hells would he translate what the Wookiee had said, Han thought as the door whooshed shut behind them.

_It's about time_, his friend had chortled.

####

Leia pushed the damp, tangled mess of her hair away from her face with a trembling hand. Wow, she thought, just—wow! There was no other word for it. Careful not to disturb the narrow bunk's other occupant, Leia stretched out her aching muscles; in some cases, they were muscles she wasn't even aware she'd possessed. She'd never realized that lovemaking could be so athletic.

Wow.

Nor had she realized that it could be so tender: or so passionate, so romantic, and so much fun. That any man could take her to a height so high she thought she might die from it—then push her just a little higher—she wouldn't have believed it was possible. Gods! She hoped Chewie hadn't heard her cries. Leia felt her cheeks grow warm.

And it was all courtesy of one egotistical, half-witted, Corellian smuggler. A scoundrel.

Wow.

With delicate care, the princess brushed her fingers across the sleeping man's lips, then traced them along that very interesting scar on his chin before moving on to the strong line of his jaw. He didn't waken, but even in his sleep his lips twitched upward, ghosting his sexy, off-centered smile. She felt an answering smile lift her own lips.

When Han had tumbled her onto his bunk and thrust himself down on top of her, Leia'd expected nothing more than a release of sexual tension. Every other time—well, to be honest, it had only been two other times—Leia had been with a man, the experience had seemed fumbling and awkward, making the young woman wonder what all the excitement was about; her release feeling very much like opening a tube of some fizzy drink, a gentle pop to let the pressure escape. Not this time. She resisted the urge to squirm as a pleasant electric charge started in the vicinity of her pubis and shivered upward.

Han's large, work-hardened hands had touched every inch of her, inside and out, sending wave after shimmering wave of pleasure coursing through her. Every stroke of his talented fingers and probe of his teasing tongue made her need for him grow. When he'd finally lowered himself on top of her: the feel of his sweat-slicked skin against hers, the scent of his maleness, the demanding hardness of him between her legs had driven her to near frenzy. The princess chuckled soundlessly. She was pretty certain there'd be a few more scars on his beautiful body—especially on his back and butt—where she'd driven her fingernails into him, trying to draw him deeper inside her.

Leia's satisfied grin softened as she considered the sleeping man next to her. He had scars—most people didn't; bacta eliminated that—but then Han Solo wasn't most people. The mark on his chin only complimented his roguish good looks, but the other marks she'd seen told their own stories. An indented scar on his arm was obviously a blaster burn; the lines on his back might have come from a lash. Leia shivered at the thought of the pain he must have suffered.

Their lives were so different—she'd been raised with every opportunity, while Han had scrambled just to survive—and yet they were so much alike. Leia let a soft chuckle escape, then pressed her lips together to hide her smile as Han shifted in his sleep. Certainly the man beside her was insufferable, with an inflated ego that couldn't be punctured—Force knows she'd tried—but beyond the bluster beat a noble heart, and as true a conscience as she'd ever encountered. Deep down he believed in the same things she did. She was lucky to have him.

The Rebellion was lucky to have him, she quickly told herself.

But there were other things, too; things about herself Leia would never have known if she hadn't seen them reflected in Han Solo. She saw her own tart sense of humor in his caustic remarks, her keen sense of adventure in his recklessly brave behavior. Han's undying loyalty aptly reflected her personal beliefs. They fit together really well in bed, too.

What in the all the hells was wrong with her, Leia wondered. She'd never reacted like this to anyone—much less a man—as she responded to Han. In some inexplicable way she felt as she understood the Corellian, or that they understood one another. That somehow, Han Solo completed her.

_No!_

Leia turned away from Han in the bunk, wrapping her arms around herself as if that could somehow keep the unwanted feelings away. It was just hormones anyway, it had to be. _Organa, _she chastened herself, _he's just a man, nothing special. _There was a war to be won, there wasn't time for anything else. Leia was surprised to find a single tear sliding down her cheek onto the pillow. She dashed it away with a quick hand.

"Hey, your Worship."

Another of those electric shivers ran through the princess at the sound of Han's sleepy, seductive voice.

"Good morning," he continued, brushing her shoulder with a gentle hand.

"Or good afternoon, or good evening," Leia answered tartly. "Who can tell?"

Han emitted a throaty chuckle. "Who cares?" he asked her, leaning over to plant a nipping kiss on the side of her neck.

_Who cares, indeed? _Leia thought wildly. There was nothing wrong with hormones, after all, why shouldn't she enjoy the rush? She pushed all the other thoughts out of her mind as she turned back to the smuggler; she would just pretend they didn't exist. With a playful shove, Leia pushed Han back over onto his back, climbing astride him. She planted a kiss in the notch of his collarbone and worked her tongue down his chest to his belly, delighting in the response she could feel from him. They were still nine days away from the reality of Bespin; there was still plenty of time. They were only halfway there.


End file.
